


All Down The Line

by antiva



Series: Living on the Line [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - High School, Eating Disorders, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Language, F/M, FTM Castiel, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Issues, M/M, Other, Physical Abuse, Smoking, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Transgender, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:57:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antiva/pseuds/antiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Personal rules, Cas? What personal rules? About not talking to strangers, especially guys?"<br/>Being depressed and transgender may ruin your social life, but Cas doesn't object to that. Then things start getting complicated.<br/>Inspired by Levithan's Will Grayson.<br/>Please <b>read the tags</b>!<br/><i>Now being edited!</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (1) unread message

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm writing this, it's July 27th, 2015, and I've began to edit this work! It will not be rewritten, but I plan to fix some of the mistakes, both in grammar and vocabulary, and switch the ableist or otherwise faulty wording into something better.   
> Each chapter I'll edit will have a note with the date of when it was reread and fixed. :)

I feel alone. It's not like that's anything special, because I have actually been feeling alone since I remember, and that would probably be middle school. Through all the years that have passed, nothing has changed, no matter how much I've prayed for it.  
It's very cold. I go downstairs to get the blanket I left there after the dinner. When I pass the door to my dad's office, he only looks at me, not saying anything. I'm not as lucky when I come back, wrapped tight in the blanket. 

Dad: Is it too cold?  
Me: No, it's okay.  
Dad: Go to sleep soon.  
Me: Okay, dad.

I think I can leave, so I do, but when I'm already on my way upstairs, dad calls again.

Dad: Cassie?  
Me: It's Cas.  
Dad: Cas. Before you go to school tomorrow, please eat something.  
Me: Okay, dad.

Saying “okay” is the best way to make him stop worrying. Even though I don't intend to eat anything tomorrow morning, or any morning for the rest of my life, and he knows that. It's best to pretend.  
I go back to my bedroom and sit in front of the computer. I log in to the chat and watch some of my favorite episodes of that science-fiction show that I love. My father hates them. I think my father hates everything that has nothing to do with Christianity. A religion freak. I look at a picture of Saint Mary above my desk and sigh.  
I quickly lower the volume when a chat message announces its arrival with a very loud, high pitched sound.

Dw67: Hi  
Casscade: Hello.  
Dw67: U wanna talk?  
Casscade: Who are you?  
Dw67: Name's Dean.  
Casscade: Who are you?

Whoever the guy is and for whatever reason he's trying to talk to me, he's probably terrible at grasping the meaning of such questions, because he doesn't answer for a couple of minutes. After maybe three, I'm back to watching the show. Some guys kill the other guys and I'm not sure why, but they look nice. I'd like to have such nice narrow hips. I would also like to have such nice narrow hips in my bed, if you ask me.  
I don't get any further with those thoughts.  
After fifteen minutes, there's the chat sound again. 

Dw67: I'm ur age & feelin kinda alone. Need to talk  
Casscade: What is it that you want to talk about?  
Dw67: Dunno. Anything. U could say sth about urself. Will u?

I sigh. Sighing is something I do often, but it's not like I don't have my reasons to do that.

Casscade: I'm Cas.  
Dw67: Nice name, short 4 Cassandra? Casey? Cassidy? Or sth else  
Casscade: Actually, none of them.  
Casscade: I prefer not to be called my full name or any full name really.  
Dw67: Some secrets have u? It's ok though  
Casscade: Don't be nosy.  
Dw67: Ok chill out  
Dw67: U a guy or a girl  
Dw67: ?  
Casscade: What, are you looking for a date?  
Dw67: Chill i'm just askin  
Dw67: Wanna know who I talk to maybe  
Casscade: I'm a guy.  
Dw67: Now we're talkin

I don't reply. I choose finishing the episode. There are some badass fights and I ignore all the chat sounds, drinking some left-over month-old water. When the main character elaborates on his man-pain for an entire minute and the episode ends with a horrible sound which might cause the dead to wake up and scream, I turn it off and look at the chat. That Dean guy hasn't given up.

Dw67: U busy maybe? If I'm interruptin sth just say ok  
Dw67: Do u watch some shows? Or like some music? What's ur fav band  
Dw67: I kinda like AC/DC in case ur not totally ignorin me now  
Dw67: I watch star trek too  
Dw67: U gonna answer me?

I think about what to write. It shouldn't be that difficult. I am the freak nerd kid in my school and I am the one who's sitting in books and movies all the time. But now, I have no idea what to say.

Casscade: I enjoy mostly things that you've probably never heard of. But I do like Star Trek and Doctor Who. I don't have any favorites when it comes to music, though.  
Dw67: U should totally listen 2 some classic bands man  
Dw67: Like scorpions. And Black Sabbath cause they're awesome  
Casscade: Maybe some day.  
Dw67: U need 2 how do u even live without some good music  
Casscade: As you see, I manage to get by.

He doesn't reply. After an hour I realize it's far past midnight, and go to bed.  
I lie there for longer than I would want to and bad thoughts are eating me alive. I shouldn't watch so many shows. And I definitely shouldn't reply to strangers on the chat. Personal rules, Cas? What personal rules? About not talking to people, especially guys? Because after saying “not a girl” you can't come back and you can't wipe the shock from their faces if, or rather when they meet you, and they always want to, and you always want to, even if you know you shouldn't. But you do. And then, it's the end of being friends, because then, they see the long hair and the chest and the waist that you hate and can't change, because your father is a bigot and you're not brave enough.  
I sigh. Loudly. Not being loud enough for dad to hear, though.  
Dean will not be any different, I'm sure of it.

I wake up with a gasp after another nightmare. I check the time. It's way past nine and my classes start on eight, so I'm late. I decide not to go to school. I'll tell dad I felt sick. I ate breakfast and my stomach couldn't stand it and I felt sick. That's a nice story and he won't say anything.  
I log in to the chat. I notice some unread messages. Under Dean's nickname.

Dw67: Hope ur just pissed or sth and don't usually have that stick up ur ass  
Dw67: Did u notice that we live in the same town  
Dw67: Might meet some day  
Dw67: Or not if u don't want to

So all of my methods of getting rid of strangers - when I already make the mistake of replying to them - didn't work. So Dean managed to see through that. So it'll all go to hell.  
I don't reply, but I think about Dean a lot. A lot, considering he's a stranger I've never met and probably won't.  
Maybe he is different. I can't know that.  
I certainly cannot be caught off guard, not by him, not by anyone.

Casscade: I don't do appointments with people I don't know.

That should be enough, I think and switch to another tab with a cat blog open. I like cats, even if my father doesn't. I don't know in what way cats are against religion, but apparently they are, because he seems to despise them. I'll get a cat some day, with a bit of luck.  
This is one of the days I get headaches for no reason, so I suffer for the next six hours, because pills are not allowed in our house. Michael would bring some if he hadn't moved out last year. He could always find a way to elude dad's bans, even if it cost him being grounded for a month. He was much braver than I am. Only one year older, yet much more responsible and much stronger than me, he was able to get out of this house right after turning eighteen. My birthday's in less than a month and there's no chance to go away. I'll probably just be here until my father dies in over twenty years or so and live by his rules until I inherit the house.  
Dad comes back from his work at a library after four and by that time I have already got rid of the headache. I go downstairs to see him, as I always do.

Dad: Hello, Cassandra.  
Me: It's Cas. Hello, dad.  
Dad: How was school?

And then I proceed to tell him the little lie I've invented about the breakfast and how my stomach isn't used to eating in the mornings. He won't find out, I'm sure of it, because he never checks if any food has disappeared at all. It hasn't, because I haven't eaten today.

Dad: Remember to get your notes. Eat less tomorrow.

That's all. I nod and go upstairs to see my best friend, that is my laptop. I notice the door to Michael's room is open. I sigh and walk these few steps to close it. When I'm back in my room, the chat tab is flashing yellow. I close the cats' pictures tab and check the messages.

Dw67: Not meetin strangers too. We might get to know each other though

So, Dean again. I wonder what am I getting myself into. It's not like I can't stop answering his messages, but I don't. Somehow.

Casscade: Hello, Dean.

I wait five minutes, drinking water which has lost its mineral value weeks ago, and he writes back.

Dw67: Hey Cas, I was wonderin if u'd even write me  
Casscade: Honestly, I probably shouldn't, but I do.  
Dw67: Why shouldn't?  
Casscade: Not your business.  
Dw67: Hey sorry chill out  
Dw67: I'm glad u talk to me anyway.

I raise my eyebrows; what is this guy even thinking? Well, I won't ask him and I don't know what to ask without making myself look ridiculous, so I wait. And it's the next twelve minutes before he asks:

Dw67: Seen any good sci fi lately?  
Casscade: No, sorry. I don't watch any new movies, I stick with the oldies. And they're either popular or not that good.  
Dw67: That's bad cause I'm bored  
Dw67: How are u feelin?  
Casscade: Not bad, thank you. I had a headache in the morning, but I got rid of it.  
Casscade: And you?  
Dw67: Whoa finally showing some empathy. I'm god  
Dw67: *Good  
Casscade: Well, if you were God, things could get complicated. God doesn't usually talk to me, you know.  
Dw67: Hahah. Joke master  
Dw67: So u do have some sense of humor. Nice 2 know  
Casscade: I don't waste my time.

He then says he has to hurry somewhere and he'll be back later, so I log out of the chat and leave my computer for the sake of reading a book. It's something by Jane Austen; I don't usually like the romantic stuff, but she had some skill and is pretty easy to read, even if the habits of people living in those years seem kind of weird to me.  
I read the entire book at once and when I finally check the time, it's already after seven pm. I decide to get some food from the kitchen as I'm beginning to lose balance. Only a bit.  
When I log in to the chat again, Dean is online, but there are no unread messages. I decide to message him. To hell with personal rules, he seems like he cares.

Casscade: Do you like Jane Austen?  
Dw67: Aren't her books some girly stuff? Idk haven't read  
Casscade: They might be, as you call it, “girly”, but they're well-written and absorbing. You should read one of her books, if you're interested in literature at all, of course.  
Dw67: Well not much but a good book is a good book right?  
Dw67: We could share some fav books and read and share impressions or sth ok

I find this idea surprisingly good; Dean turns out to be much smarter than I thought him to be. We talk about books for over an hour and the more we chat, the more I notice how similar our taste is. He liked Tolkien, I liked him, too; we both don't like ancient dramas, and even if my favorite author is Wilde and his is Vonnegut, we both aren't picky when it comes to the genre. I also find out he isn't a total homophobe – he's read books like Teleny; he didn't enjoy that one, which is understandable, because not all people would - but it's not because of two guys being in love with each other, but rather because of the overwhelming amount of sex in the whole book. I talk about the idea of pure art and some of the other stuff that Wilde's said about his books, Dean talks about how he's more about the plot than the form and everything's alright. 

Dw67: I've actually never met a guy who would be so passionate about books.  
Casscade: Wow, you wrote an entire sentence correctly.  
Dw67: Shut up  
Dw67: It's NOT about art!  
Casscade: So you just suddenly care about your way of writing?  
Dw67: If u say so. I always kinda do  
Dw67: But it's the plot that's important u won't have me with the pure art stuff  
Casscade: I hope you find the plot in my words, too.  
Dw67: U know with no plot it'd be hard 2 answer at least I think so  
Casscade: That's good. If you don't answer, I'll assume I talk nonsense.  
Dw67: Aw bet u won't & I'm sometimes afk so don't worry about me

I smile, even if it's probably not a real smile, but for me it is, and it's quite rare, so I must give Dean this one achievement. We chat until eleven, and in the meanwhile I get my notes from a kinda-friend from my classes. He then says good night, because he has to get up at six, and I have nothing more to do, so I go to bed, too.  
For the first time this week or month or even this year, there are no bad thoughts keeping me up; I fall asleep thinking about the books I'm going to read.


	2. Dean and Dean

Waking up is a pretty difficult thing for a person like me; I'm not saying it isn't for others, but I suppose most people wake up with more will to live and less disgust and resignation – otherwise the world wouldn't have been functioning for so long. Anyway, I get up immediately after my alarm clock rings and that's fifteen minutes before seven. I head straight to the bathroom and change into the clothes that I find spilled on the floor. A black blouse, blue knee-long skirt, black thigh-high socks and a gray sweatshirt, none of which being exactly original, all of which having their exact copies in my closet. School uniforms do suck, but I'm not bothered by them – I don't stand out and this is all it takes to satisfy me when it comes to the clothes I'm wearing. Unless we talk about the gender they're designed for.   
I brush my hair and notice they reach below my waist. I've cut them only one time, when I finished primary school. My mom let me do it as a celebration. She died a month later and since then, dad hasn't let me do anything that isn't associated with schoolwork. Hair isn't, obviously.  
Because my classes start on eight and it's only 7.20, I decide to spend some time with my laptop. I log in to the chat. There are no messages unread. I sigh and turn it off. Nothing to do.  
I set off to school earlier than usual, going out at 7.30, though I normally leave at about ten to eight; I've got the luck of having to walk exactly one hundred fifty meters, no more, no less, to the place I'm theoretically supposed to study in. So, it takes me three minutes to get there, and when I'm heading towards the door, someone pats my shoulder. I sigh, turn to face them, and that's Anna who's approached me. She's a redhead and she's popular. Unpopular enough to notice me, though.

Me: You really shouldn't talk to me.  
Anna: Well I will, Cas, because I like to. Anyway, you totally need to meet someone. He's a senior, too, and he's just moved in before the school started, and he's gorgeous.  
Me: Why would I be interested?

She rolls her eyes and grips my elbow, leading me, while I helplessly let her do so. We go around the corner while she babbles about how I really need to socialize and how I'm really attractive, I should just get a more positive attitude. I see a group of three people I already know and a stranger, so I assume he's the one Anna wants me to meet, and yes, he's good-looking. Hell, extremely. He looks like one of those guys from that fantasy show with demons and angels. Including the green eyes and casual stance.

Anna: Hey guys, I've brought Cas along.  
The Guy I Don't Know: Cas? I seem to be lucky when it comes to the Cas people lately.  
Anna: She's very nice and shy and that's why I'm here to introduce you, because she's in the need of new friends. Of any friends, really.  
Me: I don't need any new friends.  
Anna: Oh, you do. This is Dean and he's cool and he's joined our smoking club.  
Jo: Smoking hot club.  
Anna: Smoking hot club of smokers. Anyway, I hope you'll get along and sit together in the maths class or something.

But I'm off the conversation already, staring at the guy and wondering if he's the same Dean I've been chatting with and if I'm one of those same Cas people he's met. Maybe he's met some other Cas or maybe hasn't met anyone and just made a joke, and maybe I've been talking to an entirely different Dean.

Dean: Hello, Cas. You have any full name?

I notice the fact that Anna, Jo and Garth are gone and I'm standing alone with Dean on the empty parking lot behind the school building. Theoretically I should be heading to the homeroom to be noted by the teacher, and Dean should, too, but we still have some five minutes left and we're not going anywhere. I look him in the eyes. They're as green as eyes could be and they're surrounded by long eyelashes, probably long enough to tie someone down, if they were put together. No, but that's absurd. I blink three times.

Me: My last name is Novak. And I don't use the full version of my first.  
Dean: Ah, that's... Surprising. Anyway, we have maths together, right? And, I suppose, history, if you're going with Anna and Jo.  
Me: Yes, I am. Can we go to the homeroom?

Maybe he looks a bit disappointed, but I don't really care; he nods and we enter the school, going straight where we need to. Dean seems a little bit shy, because under the whole confidence he shows, he looks away when I look at him and doesn't say a word. He holds the door open to me and I thank him; and that's about the end of our conversations for the day. The attendance is taken and we have class, but neither history nor maths are one of them on Thursdays, so we don't even see each other. During the art class Anna asks me why I'm being so absent and I answer that I'm not.  
But I probably am, because the Dean question feels like someone's punched me in the chest and I can't catch my breath. I only stop thinking about him in chemistry while writing a three-pages long essay on artificial food ingredients.   
After that, when we're on a break, Anna approaches me again.

Anna: No, but he is hot, isn't he?  
Me: Why would physical attributes matter when it comes to friendships?  
Anna: I'm just saying. Are you okay, Cas?  
Me: Yes, everything's in order.   
Anna: I've been worried about you lately. Jo has found herself a boyfriend, Garth goes out with a girl he met while in primary school. I, you know, try to find a guy who's interested in me but isn't a douchebag, and you? You're just sitting there with your head bowed and you don't talk. I'm your friend, Cas.  
Me: I'm okay, Anna. You really shouldn't talk to me today. I just physically haven't been feeling well. It will change when the winter break comes. I promise. I'm just... tired.  
Anna: Well, however you want, but really. I'm not saying you shouldn't run away from people, but please, don't run away from me.

She leaves for French.

I feel very tired when I come back home, so I go to bed and fall asleep immediately. Dad wakes me up after five, worried because I didn't greet him when he came back home, and tells me to get up or I won't be able to sleep in the night. I do get up and quickly do my homework. It's November and it's the last moment when we're able to relax before learning for the final exams, so the teachers seem to be giving us less work than usual. It could be this way all the time; we are now able to sleep and have some free time, at least.   
I don't turn my computer on until eight, spending the time reading “Lord of the Rings” for the third time, but then I get curious about Dean and log in.  
The chat happily informs me about seven messages Dean has apparently sent me while I was offline. I, unhappily, click the pop up.

Dw67: When ur online let me know  
Dw67: How r u doing? I feel somehow better today than any time during the last few weeks tbh  
Dw67: At school today I met this girl named Cas and I thought about u but u said ur a guy  
Dw67: She was really gorgeous I mean she's real interesting and stuff and nice looking too  
Dw67: I also met her friends like they have this smoking group thing but idk they weren't as charming tho very nice people too like there was a redhead and she seemed intelligent and nice  
Dw67: Anyway. Not talkin anymore about what doesn't concern u.  
Dw67: How r u feelin? Be honest with me tho

I feel dizzy and have trouble catching breath; a panic attack approaches, I think, while chuckling a bit internally – at home, reading some chat messages. I've never thought it would come to this.   
This is why I never date: if I'm interested in the guy and he's interested in me, he sees a girl. I don't want to be a girl and I'm not willing to be with a partner who I’m not honest with, so it either ends in the two of us awkwardly going both our ways – or I tell them, and they hate me. Never has anything happened other than those two things, besides one guy who's told me it's okay, he'll cure me, but that's pretty much equal to the second one.  
I am aware that as a girl, I'm pretty, and as a girl, I have an attractive body – and I hate both of those because they make me deal with more things than I need to deal with, such as – guys. And dealing with things makes me panic. And that leads to attacks, which I'm not really keen on having.

Casscade: I'm not well, but that's none of your interest.  
Casscade: I have met a guy, today. He was very charming and pretty shy, I think.

I'm aware that was not wise to write about, but I can't help it; something drives me to trying to be honest with the guy, so I am, as much as I'm able to. I don't turn any shows on – Dean's online and I wait. He's quick.

Dw67: Wow that's good u doin any flirtin?

Now this is what I don't like. Why do people assume that saying someone is charming means I'm attracted to them?

Casscade: Why do people assume that saying someone is charming means I'm attracted to them?  
Dw67: Not assumin anything. I'm not an idiot. Just asking bc u seem to be unhappy  
Dw67: cliché but I think u need to find someone u know even if only to talk  
Casscade: Not really. I'm sorry, Dean. You don't live in my head.  
Dw67: Okay however u want. I won't be asking.  
Casscade: It's okay to ask, as long as it doesn't sound like you're expecting that I'm attracted to someone. I'm really not. Very rarely.  
Dw67: That's ok. U know I also ask bc I feel alone and stuff  
Dw67: and finding a gf would pretty much save my ass.  
Dw67: U don't ever feel the need to have sb close?  
Casscade: Not really, Dean.  
Dw67: I suppose people have it differently. Like I really liked those girls and when I know them better I rly hope i'll like one and she'll like me too and maybe i'll find my soulmate or something  
Dw67: But I doubt it  
Casscade: Why? Good things do happen.  
Dw67: Not really in my experience. But i'll wait ok i'm just a boy n stuff  
Casscade: Yeah. You probably should wait.

The thing about him being _the_ Dean is still an itching matter in my head, but I try not to be bothered; it'll be okay. I only hope I won't trust him too much, and, what'd be worse, he doesn't trust me.  
Our conversation is pleasant but tense, but that's normal in the early stages of a friendship; yes, I have called it a friendship, because as much as I shouldn't, I already want to get closer to the boy. He turned eighteen two months ago, has a little brother named Sam – I will need to ask how old he is – and lives with his adoptive uncle and aunt in a small house, which at the same time is the uncle's place of work; Mr. Singer is a mechanic, well-known in the town. Mrs. Singer, I think, tends the bar and they were friends for a long time but got married just last month. I've already known this all from Jo, who happens to be their daughter and who is happy to see them together, as well as she was content to bring her childhood friend along to school after his and Sam's parents died and the brothers moved in with the Singers. I was surprised when I've heard her talking about her excitement to Anna in the art class; but it also irritated me, because that means no chance to get away from Dean's presence. No chance to say “I don't want to” and leave, so I will have to face the consequences.  
Dean really is shy, he informs me about how big of an issue it is for him and how he tries to hide it under the cover of confidence. I feel the need to tell him that he does it very well and all that shows is a very charming bit of uncertainty, but I can't. So I just listen to him. It seems like he sometimes makes an effort to write a decent sentence while talking to me.   
At about eleven he tells me he needs to go to sleep, and I say good night. For the lack of things to do, I go to bed, too. I fall asleep as I should: quickly and calmly.

Things go similarly for the next few weeks. November ends and the first snow falls, and every school day I meet Dean, say hello to him, exchange a few sentences with him and leave, giving no clue, and every day I talk to Anna who's fascinated by him, and every evening I spend chatting with Dean, getting closer to him and telling him more than I should. Maybe he tells me more than he should, too; one Monday evening somewhere close to Christmas leaves no doubt about that.

Dw67: Hey, Cas.

We have been talking for two hours; he never just says “hey, Cas” like he can't approach a topic in the middle of a conversation.

Casscade: What has happened?  
Dw67: I think one of those girls, you know, at school. I like her.  
Casscade: What's the problem?  
Dw67: Well, it's like, there are two, and I think they're both nice. But one of them, she is just, I don't know, there is something about her.   
Casscade: That's great. Go on and tell her.

I smile a little bit to myself because Dean, that lonely Dean who has been chatting with me for weeks and who still doesn't know that besides being a guy, I'm also the “girl” he meets every day at school, and who has learned to write properly over the course of just a month – he likes someone, maybe even is in love with them. And all things say that's Anna, because who is the pretty, intelligent redhead he's recently met at school if not her?

Dw67: That's difficult. As I said I like them both and it just happens that the one I find more charming isn't even interested, and the other one seems to, well, have it bad, and I don't know.  
Casscade: I can't help you, Dean. These are matters you should deal with yourself. Also, I'm not even basically skilled in pursuing relationships with people. I'm sorry.  
Dw67: I think I'll ask out the other one. She's not worse and stuff and I might get to like her more later?

Who's the other one? I don't bother asking, but I suppose that's Meg, because she's started smoking with them, too, and that kind of makes her their friend; she goes around winking at Dean and is always the first to agree with him on any matter.   
I, of course, am not one of those girls, because Dean doesn't even look at me very often and I know that besides having good looks I have absolutely nothing to get someone charmed with.

Casscade: Do however you like. I'll be more than happy to hear you're more content than you were during the last few months.  
Dw67: Yeah, thanks, Cas.

And that's about it, because it's Monday and I feel uncomfortable and he probably feels, too – there's also homework to do and some housework on his side; lots of things to do when you don't really want to talk.   
Jo calls, when I'm fighting maths. I hear the phone silently vibrating under my pillow and it takes me ten minutes and three calls until I pick up. I'm not in a good mood and my head's in pain, as usually on Monday evenings. 

Me: Hello, Jo.  
Jo: Hey, Cas. We have to talk, you know?  
Me: What do you want to talk about?  
Jo: It's Dean. I mean, I know you don't talk to him much, but he has been complaining for days about how I should invite you here and how he wants to get to know you. It's been problematic.  
Me: What do you expect me to do about it?  
Jo: You're impossible. Of course, you should come visit me. We've known each other for five years, come on. And I really want to see what comes out of you and Dean. I think he's got it bad.  
Me: Then you're wrong. I'm pretty sure he likes Anna very much, while she doesn't appreciate his advances.  
Jo: Ridiculous! If Dean has it bad on you, then Anna's got the worst on him! I'm telling you, come visit me, you don't know what might happen and I won't try to get you two together, I promised. I have missed you since you've become more closed to the world and sadder, and I'd like to catch up, too. Please, Cas?  
Me: Okay, Jo. I'll pay you a visit on the weekend. This, or the next one. Is that good?  
Jo: Absolutely. See you tomorrow at school, Cas.

She was smiling when I agreed, that I was able to hear in her voice. I sigh – the frequency of my sighs is really getting to a point where I might get close to hyperventilation – and put the phone down, getting back to my homework.


	3. Isn't that Christmas?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...not yet, but we're close.

When I finish, I get up and stretch, moaning loudly; I feel the emptiness of my stomach as a pleasant reminder of the fact that I haven't eaten today. I promise to myself to eat some breakfast tomorrow – after having a short moment of something similar to falling asleep in bio today, I'm afraid I'm going to faint sooner than later. For four weeks, I have eaten a pretty small amount of twenty two meals. I'd be more than happy if I'd eaten none.  
Packing the things I need to bring to school tomorrow, I open the chat, more out of a habit than a need to do so; it does flash yellow. Curious, I look to see there are two new messages. One is from Dean. The other one – Anna. I choose to read hers first.

Annael: Hello Cas can I ask u a favor? 

I look at the message and reread it five or six times, wondering about what she might possibly ask me for. And if that has anything to do with Dean. The situation is damn absurd, me talking to Dean as a guy on the chat, me talking to Dean as a girl at school, Dean telling me about being in love with either my school friend or, as Jo thinks, me, Jo wanting to invite me over, probably in purpose of getting me and Dean together – even if she says it's not that; and now there would be Anna asking me for something that involves Dean who I've thought was in love with her, but turns out she holds some unrequited crush for him while he crushes on someone that technically doesn't even exist and is called Cassandra Novak?  
Absurd. This is like Bold & Beautiful mixed together with all available Mexican TV shows.  
I sigh again and throw the last notebook into my schoolbag. Picking up a bottle of water – fresh, because the previous one has finally ended – from the floor, I sit down, yawning.

Casscade: Yes, you might. Is it about Dean?

She's not online, so I close the tab to see what has Dean written about. Relief is the name that best describes the feeling I get while reading it.

Dw67: I thought a little about that girl thing. I'm 100% going to ask the redhead out. Idk I think we get along pretty well isn't that enough of a reason

Great. I sigh and, for a better effect, I sigh for the second time. That would solve almost all of my current problems and bring me back to point zero. If Anna's request involves Dean, it is probably completed without my participation in the matter; if it isn't, I don't need to worry about it. Also, Dean will be taken, which will shut Jo up about that and I'll have my calmness guaranteed. At least for the time they're together.  
What does one reply to that? My fingers hover above the keys while I'm thinking, and Anna replies to me before I get to type my answer to Dean. So I quickly type in the first thing that comes into my mind:

Casscade: That's good. I'm happy for you.

Does it sound sarcastic? I hope it doesn't. I quickly switch the tabs.

Annael: Yeah, it kinda is  
Annael: I wanna ask him out because there he is struck dumb by u and u don't really react   
Annael: And I like him pretty much so I wondered if u could help me?

I blink three times, looking dumbly at the screen; what for a request is that? “I wondered if you could help me”, which means do what, tell him “hello there is this redhead who wants you to ask her out so stop pining for me and do it”?  
At least I don't _actually_ have to do anything; I just need to find a way to tell her it's done without letting her know it's him who has told me about his plans and, that I have been told anything at all. So I pretend I'm not online, even though I'm perfectly aware of the fact that my nickname is underlined with green. I drink some water, start choking because that's what I am, and when I get myself together, I have my answer already in my head.

Casscade: I'm pretty sure he likes you.   
Casscade: The guy is shy. Give him a day or two, from what I've seen it looks like he's going to ask you out real soon.  
Annael: Nno have u even seen him all he does is listen to music or look at u. Do you have eyes or not?  
Casscade: You only think so. Girls are usually looking away when a guy looks at them, all sweet eyes. I've learned that from the romantic movies I've watched with Jo.  
Annael: U literally never help. Hopeless!  
Casscade: You're wrong, I did help, I have just told you about the fact that you're probably delusional about him being in love with me. That is all.  
Casscade: Why don't you just wait and see if my words come true?  
Annael: I'm scared u seem like u have the cupid amongst your acquaintances. But ok  
Annael: I will trust u on this one but if he doesn't show anything this week u owe me one  
Casscade: Okay. I will.  
Casscade: I need to go now. Don't worry about Dean. I've seen him looking your way.

Which is not exactly a lie, because first, he does look her way, second, he does like her and he's told me so personally, so even if he didn't exactly crush hard on her, I'm still perfectly honest.  
I say my goodbyes and close the chat, hoping Dean isn't going to log in a minute after I've logged out.   
Lying in bed, I think about how much my life has changed in the past two months – turns out yes, it's been seven weeks since Dean has first messaged me – and how it hasn't changed at all, because I'm still a long-haired, closeted trans guy who is eighteen years old but still has no love interest or social life. I'm not even sure if I want it to change; that's me: perpetually unhappy, with no strength to overcome the obstacles that would be brought along by changes. I can't see myself living this same life still in, let's say, twenty years, but I'm certainly too anxious to even imagine actually doing anything – doesn't matter if it involves coming out or finding an open enough love interest, or even cutting my hair short.  
What does Dean have to do with any one of these three? 

Three days pass again in a circle of school, homework and short chats with Dean, who _obviously_ has just as much work as I do, and I find myself talking to Jo on the phone on eleven pm, because who else would call me just when they want to, even if they feel the need to do it in the middle of the night?

Jo: Listen up, Cassandra.  
Me: It's Cas. I can't believe you're so hopeless in remembering my name.  
Jo: Fuck your name. Dean has asked Anna out.  
Me: What, like, now?  
Jo: Not exactly now. He asked her today evening and now they're out in some expensive-ass restaurant, even though none of them can really afford it.  
Me: Yeah, that's good.  
Jo: Say that again?  
Me: That's good. I've been telling Anna he would do so.  
Jo: Are you fucking crazy, Cas?  
Me: Why would I be?  
Jo: Dean doesn't show Anna half the affection she deserves from the guy who wants to go out with her! He's balls deep in love with you!  
Me: Jo, first, relationships don't usually start with two people being in love with each other. You ask a person out when you like them, not necessarily when you want to spend your whole life with them, even though you... haven't talked much. Second, don't use such expressive metaphors. I feel like I'm going to throw up.  
Jo: Fuck you hard, Cassandra, you and your name. The guy is crazy about you.

Now that's what makes me angry.

Me: Listen, Joanna Beth: I have known Dean for seven weeks and we have only shared a few sentences. He has never once shown any signs of affection for me which go beyond a newly formed friendship. So if you could, just for once, keep your opinions to yourself, I would appreciate it greatly, and I'm sure Anna and Dean would be just as happy not being disturbed in their private matters. You are their friend as well as mine and I'm telling you, your theories will not end well if you continue with them.

I take a deep breath; during this one whispered phone call I've said more words than I usually do the whole day. And they all were true. That is a big achievement. I should gain experience points.  
The line goes silent, and after a few seconds I hear Jo snort and the line goes off.  
I fall asleep, not sparing a thought for Dean, instead focusing on Jo and why would she lie to me about someone's feelings. It's like she wants to set me up.  
Fool's dream.

It's Friday, and I feel too bad to do anything useful.  
I do get up though, because I don't have much choice, I eat some bread with cheese, I brush my teeth, put on the usual clothes and stare in the mirror for ten minutes, sighing every thirty seconds and being generally very sad. Mornings are more difficult than any other parts of my life.  
I leave for school; while walking there I remember it's the last Friday before Christmas, so the next week is entirely free. That should be a nice thought, but it isn't; school gives me at least a bit of distraction when I need it.  
Dean and Anna pass me near the entrance. I smile a little bit when they say hi. They're not holding hands or anything, but they're so close all the personal space is denied. I feel a bit abandoned.  
The lessons are as boring as usual, and everything is grayer when Jo and Anna are not around – Anna with Dean, Jo sick at home.  
I go back home and sleep. For twelve hours, and I wake up at five am on Saturday, when the world is still a dark place.

The days pass quickly, and soon I find myself cleaning the bathroom on Christmas Eve. My father attempts to talk to me and even if he doesn't succeed, I feel thankful that he tries to keep a longer conversation with me at least once a year.  
Since Thursday I haven't been on the chat and if I'm a little bit curious about what Dean or Anna have written to me, I'm not letting it show. I intend to have my Christmas quiet and calm, away from any people stuff. Away from couples, especially. I don't pick up my phone when Anna calls. She doesn't try again.

Dad: Cassie, may I ask you something?  
Me: Yes, dad.  
Dad: Aren't there any nice boys around you?  
Me: Not exactly.  
Dad: I was wondering... Most girls have already had some boyfriends... But I guess it's not really your time yet, is it?  
Me: Yes, I guess.  
Dad: I hope the new year will give you some nice boy, maybe a future husband even.  
Me: Yes, I hope so, too.

And that's the end of the talk for the next half an hour, after which he starts again:

Dad: Do you remember to pray every evening? 

Of course I don't. That's why I need to lie.

Me: Yes. I sometimes pray in the mornings, too.  
Dad: That's great. I'm proud of you, Cassandra.  
Me: It's Cas.

Dad sighs and waves a hand at me. He never listens. I hoped when I tell him what he wants to hear he'll listen a bit more carefully, but it seems like that's not enough. Too bad.  
We clean our whole huge house – we do have a housemaid, but dad gives her a time off before holidays and we just sweep the floors and do some dusting then, and it's perfectly done.  
She's left us all the food we need, packed and frozen neatly on Saturday, because my dad can't cook and I can't cook, too, and he often calls me useless, because in his opinion a woman should be able to feed her family. I think he doesn't mean this, though. He hides much more warmth and less hatred under all these empty words of his; that's why I don't hate him, though I don't really love him, either.   
After all the preparations are done, we end up sitting by a table much bigger than necessary, awkwardly looking at each other, until dad sighs and stands up, showing me to stand up, too. I do and we whisper the usual prayers, followed by my dad's “praying” - that is complaining – about Michael being lost and stuff. I don't really listen; I come back to paying attention when I hear my name, for the first time spoken properly without my correct. 

Dad: ...and I pray for Cas to be happier and to find a good man, and to finish school with the best results she can achieve. Cas, do you want to pray for anything?  
Me: You have already said everything I wanted to.   
Dad: So. Amen.  
Me: Amen.

We eat in silence, and when we're full, we say thank you, clean up and go to our rooms or whatever my dad calls his small library thing he likes to spend days in.  
Despite my earlier thoughts, I log in to the chat, because I'm feeling lonely. There are new messages from several people, including Dean and Anna.

Annael: Merry Christmas, Cass!!!! I was hoping to get u on the phone but you're not picking up so I figured i'd better leave a msg here  
Annael: Wish u all the best!!!

…and the others have written similar things, wishes and Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, so I reply with those same words and, in the end, open Dean's window. The green dot is present, which means he's finished with Christmas Eve, too.

Dw67: Merry Christmas, Cas. How are you doing?  
Dw67: Got Sammy a great present. Can't wait till he opens it. It's a remote controlled toy car. Hope he likes it.

Wow, somebody actually bothered writing me a more enthusiastic message. It's like he really wants to share a part of his life with me, and that's incredibly nice, because nobody has done that before. Not for so long, at least. I smile.

Casscade: I've eaten the dinner with my dad, and now I'm pretty bored.  
Casscade: I feel lonely, too.  
Dw67: Mentally huggin u  
Dw67: Seriously, hold on. Hope you'll be ok.  
Casscade: I will. Thank you, Dean.

There goes silence, he doesn't reply and I don't write anything either, I just sit back and stare at the screen as if I hope it explodes or something.

Dw67: I'm feeling pretty alone, too. But that's usual I guess  
Casscade: Aren't you dating Anna?  
Dw67: Yeah I am but that's sth else? Like dating but no cuddling eternally things  
Casscade: I don't mean cuddling. I mean, the person you're dating should ease your loneliness.  
Dw67: Yeah well see she doesn't  
Dw67: I guess we've been going out for too short and I need to get to know her better  
Casscade: I hope you get on well.  
Dw67: Yeah thanks Cas.  
Dw67: G2g mom wants me to help clean up. Bye Cas and Merry Christmas you know  
Casscade: See you, Dean.

I go to sleep. There's nothing more to do and my stomach is full and I feel like if I need to _feel_ any minute longer I will throw up, so I lie down and close my eyes.   
It's warmer than usual. There are no nightmares.


	4. It's a mess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the feedback. I really hope you enjoy this chapter; the next one will be when the real fun starts, but if you want to see that, I need motivation!

The first days back at school don't belong to the easiest; everyone is still in an all Christmas-y mood and it's hard to get any work done. However, I endure this frenzy with my usual uninterested face. I can easily spot others who took the challenge of not reacting to the enthusiasm of those happy enough to celebrate for the whole month.   
Seems like Dean is among those, too. Sometimes I pass him by on the corridors, saying 'hi' and giving him a small wave, and he replies with a smile; but he doesn't look either happy or enthusiastic. He's just there, like nothing happens and like no students run around the school trying to steal each other's Santa hats. That's why, during one long break in the middle of January, I decide to talk to him.

Me: Hello, Dean.  
Dean: Hi, Cas. Bored, are you?  
Me: Not more than you, I'm sure.

He huffs a short laugh at my words, and I smile, looking at his eyes. They are much greener than my Christmas Tree, and his lashes decorate them, delicately reflecting the light. They would be just like every usual nice eyes, if not for this green: it's almost overwhelming to look at from so close.

Dean: How'd you spent your Christmas, then?  
Me: Sleeping and reading, mostly. And talking to a friend. You?  
Dean: I wasn't in mood for doing anything. I just kinda slept and yeah, talked to friends, too. I went out with Anna once and went for some walks with my brother.  
Me: That's not bad, though. At least you had someone to go out with.  
Dean: You didn't?  
Me: Absolutely.

He looks at me sadly and turns his head away. It's awkward; I can almost physically feel how much. Luckily, the silence doesn't last long, because the bell rings and we need to find our classrooms.  
Physics I spend drawing small circles on a sheet of paper; I'm no genius, but I already have this topic done, because physics is something I get and often run away to. And I feel really proud and maybe a little vain when the teacher asks me something to catch me on not paying attention, and I brilliantly explain even more than she's probably said. That makes her rise her eyebrows, but she doesn't question. I guess that wouldn't be a nice talk.  
Two hours of English, somehow spent discussing a new assignment, pass quite quickly and I'm free. The thought of walking so long as for fifteen minutes only makes me cringe; it's too cold and even my coat, which is nice and warm, doesn't protect me enough. The way home is hell. Telling myself I'm a warrior and I can stand anything, I raise one leg, then the other one, then again, and somehow I reach my house. This I am proud of. What I do immediately after taking off my coat and boots is wrap myself in a blanket and get a hot cup of tea. With this equipment, I log in to the chat.

Dw67: Hey Cas. You home?  
Casscade: Yes. It is very cold.  
Dw67: Yeah, lucky I have a car  
Casscade: You have a car?  
Dw67: Yeah. Dad left me  
Dw67: She's beautiful and she's the most precious thing I have  
Casscade: I wish I had my license done.   
Dw67: Why don't u?  
Casscade: My father won't allow me. We don't even have a car.  
Casscade: He considers them dangerous.  
Dw67: Bullshit  
Dw67: Well maybe not. But if u drive carefully there's almost no chance to get killed  
Casscade: Tell him.

Speaking of the devil, the moment I send my reply, the door shuts with a crash and dad walks through the corridor to see me. I leave my room and greet him quietly, putting his coat on a hook.

Dad: Are you well? It's really cold outside.  
Me: I'm okay.  
Dad: If it snows so hard tomorrow, don't go to school. I trust you to get your notes later.  
Me: Okay. Thank you.

He smiles at me a little bit nervously and goes to the library. I take that as a sign our conversation is finished. I go back upstairs. A message from Dean is waiting for me.

Dw67: You know we broke up with Anna  
Casscade: You did? Why?

I did make a mistake during our last conversation, talking to him about Anna when he hasn't informed me about the redhead's name through the chat; he seems not to have noticed, though, and if he asks, I can easily lie to him. There's no message archive on the chat.

Dw67: Yeah well, it was kinda two-sided. She said I wasn't paying attention to her  
Dw67: Maybe that's true. Even though when I asked her out she denied sometimes.  
Dw67: And she's too focused on grades to go on dates, that's what she's told me too  
Dw67: I guess the fault lies on both sides  
Casscade: I'm sorry for that.  
Dw67: Don't be. This wasn't a good thing I think anyway  
Casscade: Yes, you didn't seem happy with her.  
Dw67: Not my time I guess

I think about what to write, yawning and taking a sip of my water. Dean is a hard guy to talk to, or it's rather me not being able to hold a decent conversation. 

Casscade: What are your plans?  
Dw67: My sister Jo, I mean she's the daughter of the people I live with, she's having a small party at the end of January  
Dw67: Maybe that's where I meet someone  
Casscade: Yes, you might.

I feel a little bit too warm, because Jo organizing a party means I will be invited – or more like, forced to come – and Dean coming to the party organized by Jo means she'll try to get us together again. I sigh, not feeling very pleased for the fact. But what can I do?  
She actually calls an hour later, when Dean is away because his mom called him to help and I just sit there rocking in my chair and trying to calm down, but as usually, it doesn't work. 

Jo: Hello, Cas.  
Me: Hello, Jo.  
Jo: You have anything to do on the 29th?  
Me: You know the answer well.  
Jo: So, you're going to come to my party. No complaints.  
Me: Okay.  
Jo: It's kinda a New Year's party so you might want to dress up. Not necessarily as some character but you know, some dress and stuff. Nothing too elegant.  
Me: Okay, I will.  
Jo: You coming to school tomorrow?  
Me: If it doesn't snow.  
Jo: Yeah, me too. Or perhaps Dean will give me a ride. So, see you, love!  
Me: See you, Jo.

I play with my phone for a small bit, then sigh and put it away. It's only 6 pm, but I'm already sleepy. I go down the stairs. Dad is in his usual place in the library, writing something passionately.

Me: Dad, I'm going to Jo's on the 29th. She's having a party.  
Dad: Like, a New Year's party?  
Me: Yes.  
Dad: That's, that's good. You should spend more time with friends.  
Me: I know, dad.  
Dad: Just remember to come back home before midnight. And please go with your friends, so nobody attacks you.  
Me: Okay, I will do that.  
Dad: Can you go for a walk now? You look sleepy and pale. You should spend more time outside.  
Me: I was planning to do so.  
Dad: Good. Go.  
Me: See you, dad.

I put on my coat and boots and go outside, the cold air a shock at first, but not so bad as not to stop hurting my throat and skin. The backyard looks very cozy covered in a thick layer of snow; everything is white and it shines just enough to make me squint. I walk down the path – or rather the place where the path is when it's not covered in snow – and look around to make sure nobody sees me before going out on the pavement.  
It's already dark, but the streets are not empty; several people are walking here and there, but it's very calm – a typical winter evening. I breathe in deeply and continue to go down the street. I'm heading towards an old kindergarten with a small playground, which is my favorite place to go when I'm alone.  
Several thoughts haunt me. My life had been a mess already and it didn't need the presence of Dean. What I'd like to do is not to care, but seems like I can't, because our lives have become intertwined in a weird way and it's impossible to escape. I can't think of ways to change my situation, which is the worst, because it means I will either need a big plot twist or I'll stay in the same place until the end of the school year. Unless Dean and I both stay in this same town. Which would only mean carrying this on for the next couple of years.  
I do need to tell him the truth. That would be the only way. Or just try not to talk to him, but how do you explain two people breaking off their contacts with Dean at the same time on the chat and in real life? He would know who I am at once. So there's no way. Either tell him, or a big plot twist. That is something I really need to think about.  
It's getting very cold, but I don't plan on going home any time soon. With my eyes closed I kind of enjoy the shivers that go down my spine and overwhelm my whole body. I really like being cold. It might sound cliché, but I think it feels sacred, like I could get high on it and perform holy rituals.  
I need to talk to Dean about this. He seems to like the weird thoughts I sometimes get about things.  
No, not Dean again.  
Talking with him on the chat has become the light of my day weeks ago, but I'm not supposed to be thinking about him, especially with that messed up situation we've got going.  
I feel like it's dangerously close to an attachment. I can't afford it.  
I shake my head, get up and go back to my house. I go straight to bed, too tired to think.

I wake up to the sound of my phone beeping with a new message. It's snowing heavily. The text is from Michael.

Michael: Would you meet me at the park tomorrow?

Michael doesn't really talk to me often. He sends me birthday wishes in November, sometimes for Christmas, too, and sometimes we go for a walk or a coffee together. Although he is not very attached to me, he seems to care about his role of a big brother. And I wonder how he is doing. I agree and send him a message asking about the hour we meet. He responds with a simple: 4, and I say okay.  
I spend the day drinking coffee and watching old episodes of Doctor Who. I really like the fifth Doctor. But I love them all; they teach me confidence and show me how to keep living. Results: I am alive.  
I only log in to the chat in the afternoon. As usually, there's a message from Dean waiting for me. I think I need to get used to it.

Dw67: Jo told me she wants to get me together with this Cas girl u know?  
Dw67: That was like, before christmas and before I started to go out with Anna  
Dw67: And I kinda dont know  
Casscade: Just go your own way.  
Casscade: Though... She doesn't seem to care much about you, to be honest.  
Dw67: Yeah u know, she talks to me sometimes  
Dw67: And I just can't because she's lonely and stuff  
Dw67: Just as I am  
Casscade: Talking is the way, I believe.  
Casscade: Maybe she is not oblivious to what you think about her. Maybe she's shy.  
Casscade: Or just really doesn't want to have relationships. Does she have any?  
Dw67: Not that I heard of.  
Casscade: See, maybe that's the thing.  
Dw67: Yeah I need to get over her.  
Dw67: I just feel this weird thing about her like I know her much better than I really do  
Dw67: And this kinda keeps me in place u know  
Casscade: Yes.  
Dw67: You not gonna give me relationship advice do u?  
Casscade: I believe I am not the best person to do so.  
Dw67: Hahahah right. You ever had a gf/bf?  
Casscade: Primary school doesn't count, so no.  
Dw67: See I had lots of gfs and don't know shit about being with them.  
Dw67: I dont know shit about people at all  
Casscade: I didn't know it was that bad.  
Dw67: No, Cas  
Dw67: I'm the ladies guy and I'm everywhere and all and everyone likes me  
Dw67: But still I am this shy guy who nobody really knows right?  
Dw67: I just wish I found someone who understood me  
Casscade: Every person needs that.  
Dw67: And yeah I'm just glad I have you. You're a good guy you know  
Casscade: Thank you.  
Dw67: G2g. Sammy's sick and I have to give him meds + help mom with something  
Dw67: See u  
Casscade: See you soon.

And back to Doctor Who. This show is seriously good. I look at the Daleks on the screen and wonder if there are transgender Daleks as well. No, but this is a silly thought.  
Dad is back at the usual hour and this time, I don't go out to meet him. He stops in the hall and goes to the kitchen. Five minutes later, the door to my room opens, and there he is, with small sandwiches cut in triangles. I pause the show and look at him, wide-eyed.

Dad: I thought I'd make you something nice.  
Me: I appreciate that. You didn't have to.  
Dad: You're my daughter. And you're too thin. Eat, dear.

Wow, he's called me dear. That hasn't happened this year, yet, and I'm pretty shocked. Maybe he lost his job or something. Or one of those sweet catholic books he writes got published. That would be his good day.

Me: Did anything special happen?  
Dad: No. Why, can't I make you something sometimes? Am I really that bad that you get surprised when I do something good?

Yes, yes you are, I think, but I don't say that aloud.

Me: I'm meeting Michael tomorrow.  
Dad: Okay. Did you get your notes?  
Me: Yes.

I lied, but he doesn't care as much as to ever check my words. He nods and puts the plate before me, looks at the screen with a strange expression, and leaves the room.  
I eat all the sandwiches, and I want to throw up.

Dw67: I'm back earlier than I thought hello Cas  
Casscade: Hello.  
Dw67: How u doing?  
Casscade: Pretty well.

Another lie this evening. However, I don't go to the bathroom. I'll go in a minute. I'll just wait for another message.

Dw67: Yeah me too Sammys getting better   
Dw67: He had a pretty big fever yesterday and we managed to get his temperature back to normal. I'm glad  
Casscade: You care about your little brother.  
Dw67: Yeah I do  
Casscade: I have an older brother. And though he isn't as loving as you are for Sammy, I think there is something about the big brothers that they just need to care for their siblings.  
Dw67: U the little one?  
Casscade: Well, not really little. He's just a year older, but much stronger and more mature than me.  
Dw67: Wow that sounds pretty good and you're pretty mature yourself  
Casscade: Thank you.

Our conversations somehow always seem to flow effortlessly, like we were made to be friends. Interesting, especially considering the awkwardness between us in the real life contact attempts. But here, we're too open, too honest to each other to fail an exchange of words. There, it can't even be compared.  
Dean particularly likes the same Doctors as me. He's told me he's watched some of the old episodes, but prefers the new ones; that's the only thing we don't agree on, but at least our classic's favorites are similar. And he likes the Daleks almost as much as I do. They're so cruel and so, so desperate.  
Dean likes comic books, too; he tells me about how much Iron Man rocks, and I agree to check the comics. He did watch the Timelord show, so I need to return the favor.  
He leaves a couple of times to check up on Sam. I've never met him, but I probably will during Jo's party, which I dread. Among my needs, there is no need to socialize. And certainly no need for loud places and drunk people all over the room.  
We say good night at 10.  
I keep down the sandwiches.

The meeting with Michael goes just normally: we talk for a bit while walking around the park and then go to Starbucks. He complains a lot about his material status; as a high school drop out who left the house with barely a couple hundreds dollars, he couldn't find a steady job and a place to live as quickly as he would wish. And when he did, he worked days and nights to be able to eat properly. Now, he says, it's steadier and he can already save up a little bit, but he's still trying to look for a better job. He's a skilled mechanic and only the lack of an engineering degree stops him from getting a really good pay.  
I find out he has a girlfriend, and he mentions her with smiling eyes; I wonder if this is what love looks like. According to his description, she's tall, blonde and really charming. Her name is Mary.  
I wonder if I should tell him about my gender situation and about what's going on with Dean. I'd really use a piece of advice now, in this position, and there's literally nobody I can talk to. On the other hand though, Michael, rebel as he is, has still heard the conservative views my father and his brothers tried to poison us with, silently but constantly. I have no idea how he would react to that, so I don't start the topic.

Michael: How are you dealing with dad, though?

That is not a question that should surprise me, but it does. 

Me: I guess, good. I just do what he says.  
Michael: That's not bad.

He looks thoughtful, though, so I let his brain finish working through the issue he wants to bring up. When it does, he extends his hand and touches my arm.

Michael: If he ever does any harm to you, whatever happens, you're always welcome at my place. You can always start over, find a job and everything. Don't feel forced to stay with this paranoid bastard.

Wow. That was really unexpected. I swallow and look at him, trying to smile. This was a positive surprise.

Me: Thank you, Michael.

He nods and sits down again.  
We finish our drinks and go home.  
Dad doesn't talk to me this evening, and I don't wish he would. Instead, I engage in a conversation with Dean and talk with Anna about a new dress she wants to buy; I think she looks better in green than in blue.   
I'm not sure how I feel when I go to sleep.


	5. we drink the time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's really cold, nothing changes; this might be the coldest winter we've had for years. Everything is frozen and even if there's no snow, there's ice, loads of ice everywhere. But it's beautiful and something ironically resembling _warmth_  hangs in the air. The evening seems calm and welcoming, like the whole world waits for the night to come and swallow all the ugliness, shining only in the white beauty of the moon and snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the wonderful [Philo](http://awhisperscallingme.tumblr.com/) for giving this a read-through and correcting certain things I couldn't word like they should be; I trust you on this matter, so I didn't reread the corrected version ♥  
> Warning: this chapter may be triggering.

The 29th comes fast; I don't even notice the passing days among the conversations with Dean, occasional texts from Michael and crosswords with Anna. With her, I don't usually talk about Dean, trying to go around the topic; I think she doesn't want it to come between us as much as I don't. So, we talk and giggle like little girls. I like it that way. I might be a guy, but I see nothing wrong with things typically assigned to women.  
I wake up that morning feeling the unavoidable hanging over my head like a dark cloud. So, today. I sigh and stretch, looking at the clock. It's 10 am. I don't care.  
While I'm brushing my teeth, Jo calls. She really has that way of calling whenever I don't really feel like talking to her. I spit the toothpaste out and pick up the phone.

Jo: Hey, Cassie! You're not planning on _not_  going to my party, are you?  
Me: No, Jo. You have decreased all my stubbornness to level zero.  
Jo: That's good. What will you be wearing?

I think about it for a moment. I don't own too many fancy things, just some copies of my school uniform, maybe jeans and some shiny blouses. I definitely won't go for a school wear, so a blouse and a pair of jeans, it is. I inform Jo.

Jo: Okay, too bad you're not wearing a dress, me and Anna are going to dress up like real ladies!  
Me: I think I don't need that.  
Jo: Yeah, right, you boy.

She laughs cheerfully and ends the call. Now, that was quick. I finish brushing my teeth and study myself in the mirror for a minute, then turn my head away when I can no longer stand it.  
I wonder what Dean sees in my appearance that is so nice for him.  
No, not Dean again.  
I go downstairs to check if dad's at home, but apparently it's his workday. I never know when he has to work. He never told me about his pattern. I force myself to eat a spoonful of cereal with milk sitting by the kitchen table, and think about what Dean's doing at the moment. And about what might happen at today's party. Maybe I'm lucky and I won't have to talk to him much, or at all. It would be appreciated if Jo happened to change her mind about getting us together.  
I feel sick, but decide not to throw up. I might have been, consciously or not, starving myself for the past year, but I'm not planning to faint at Jo's. I won't embarrass myself, I will eat and keep it down. At least today. At least until I don't feel dizzy all the time.  
Keeping food down is difficult when my body is used to puking on a regular basis, but I still can do it. I make a small note in my mind to do it less often. I really don't want to be like those bulimic people who accidentally throw up while coughing. I never even intended to starve myself. When did that happen? Somewhere between realizing why I've always felt wrong and being already on one meal every two days, for sure. Maybe one day this will stop as suddenly as it started. Maybe I hope so, maybe I don't want it to stop.  
After finishing my food I go back to my room to finish a book I started in December and abandoned. It's nice and fantasy, and the main character seems really attractive. He's strong and fast and long-haired, every straight girl's and gay guy's dream. I'm sucked into the action so much that after I read the last lines, I feel like I was completely out of this world the whole time. That's a good book, if a reader is able think they're a part of it while reading. I will recommend this book to Dean.  
It's 4 pm before I even notice, this means father will be home in a few minutes and I need to get ready to go out. I open my closet and sigh. Not an article of clothing for my gender, everything pretty and feminine, though still not as feminine as most of my girl friends' wardrobe can get. I have no preference when it comes to girly clothes, so I buy whatever fits and is neutral enough so I don't stand out. Dad seems to be very pleased with this fact, while I quietly throw longing glances at the men's sections.  
I choose the simplest button-up blue blouse – dad often buys me blue clothes, saying they bring out my eyes – and skinny jeans a shade darker. And black converse, because I'm completely sure nobody will be wearing any elegant shoes. I throw in a small black bracelet to the mix and I'm okay. Well, not okay. But presentable.  
After putting the clothes on and brushing my hair so it doesn't stick out, I look at myself in the mirror. I'm pretty, really pretty, and I hate it. My blue eyes are big and I have high cheekbones, which give my face an interesting look. And my lips are soft and just full enough. But everything is so damn feminine I stop looking.  
Dad comes home. I go downstairs and he tells me I look pretty. I say good bye to him, put on my coat and boots, pack converse to my bag and go out.  
It's really cold, nothing changes; this might be the coldest winter we've had for years. Everything is frozen and even if there's no snow, there's ice, loads of ice everywhere. But it's beautiful and something ironically resembling _warmth_  hangs in the air. The evening seems calm and welcoming, like the whole world waits for the night to come and swallow all the ugliness, shining only in the white beauty of the moon and snow.  
By the time I reach Jo's house, it's already dark, but there are still people on the streets. I hesitate before ringing and take a deep breath. This is going to be a difficult night.  
Of course, the person who opens the door is Dean. When he sees me, he looks down and rubs his neck awkwardly.  
Dean: Hey, Cas. Come in.  
Me: Hello, Dean.

I come in and he kindly takes my coat to hang it. I change my shoes and then Jo goes out to meet me. She looks beautiful; dressed in a blue, knee-long dress, with a white belt on her waist, she's shining.

Jo: Hey, Cas.  
Me: Hello, Jo. You look really pretty. Have the others come yet?  
Jo: Thank you! Nope, you're first, Anna's supposed to arrive soon, and the others, I have no idea. But they should be in before six.  
Dean: Yeah, and Samantha's still in her room, doing her make up.

He rolls his eyes. I frown before remembering Dean is probably mocking his little brother. He's not trans, is he? That would be a really strange coincidence. Unbelievable, I'd say.  
Sam enters the room, though, with an annoyed face, and I stare a bit, because he looks a bit too tall for his age. He's maybe fifteen, I need to ask someone, but has already overgrown Dean. I find myself a bit jealous of his hair.

Dean: Cas, this is my brother Sam. Sam, this is Cas, the girl we told you about.

I feel a little bit upset at the word “girl”. It's a bit irrational.

Sam: Hey, Cas. Nice hair.  
Me: Hello, Sam, I thought the exact same thing about yours.  
Dean: That's a weird exchange.  
Sam: Shut up, Dean.  
Dean: Okay, okay, discuss your girly things together. I quit.

I frown, a little bit confused, when Dean goes out of the room and Sam smiles at me with amusement. I've never had such light talks with Michael, so it feels weird. Sam follows Dean into the bigger room and Jo takes my wrist and leads me there, too. There are drinks and sandwiches and pie, among other sweets. I notice a big amount of beer bottles.  
The bell rings. Jo walks out to open the door, while Dean and Sam are talking to each other quietly. There is a big amount of movement in the hall and several people enter the room. Everyone smiles and waves and some introduce themselves to me, and I shake their hands, and don't really remember anyone. Between a girl in a yellow short skirt and a guy who looks like a rapper, I notice Dean looking at me. It makes me nervous, but I don't let it show.  
Soon, Anna arrives, too, and then several more people, and soon the whole house is full of teenagers. Jo leaves somewhere with her boyfriend and another friend, and I just sit there, while a group of people, including Sam and an amusing guy called Gabriel, try to draw me into a conversation, joking and generally being really nice. Some of them have already opened their beers; some are still drinking coke and other fizzy drinks. The atmosphere is light and I hadn't expected to feel so at ease; I scold myself internally for thinking Jo and Anna's friends would be the type of those cool kids who hate outsiders. Though they both are generally pretty popular, they're still a bit like me.  
While Gabriel tells another story of a funny thing that has happened to him in his first grade, Dean approaches us and sits next to me with a bottle of beer. He smiles at the group; he probably knows them very well. Or maybe it's just his friendly approach and he's met most of them at this party, too.

Sam: What, Dean, bored enough to actually _talk_?  
Dean: Shut up, Sammy. Drink your orange juice.  
Gabriel: Because you're so not underage, Dean-o.  
Dean: What, you're on his side, too?  
Sam: Everyone's on my side, eighteen year old jerk.  
Dean: Don't outsass me, bitch. You're not even sixteen.

The music starts to get too loud for my ears. It's not annoying, Jo has a good taste and though her favorites include lots of dance pop and disco genres in general, they're still pretty balanced with the nice additions of glam rock, dark wave and other more alternative styles. She and Anna make me playlists, sometimes. They share most of their favorite artists and though I usually listen to some classic metal, on certain days I'm willing to enjoy their music. Now, although the mix is as pleasant as usually, it's a little bit louder than I would like. But I accept it – after all it's called a party, not a musical evening or something.  
Jo walks back in, calling me and Anna to help her. We follow her into the kitchen, where we meet the two guys she was with.

Jo: By the way, Cas – this is Brad, my boyfriend – and here's Isaac.  
Brad: Hello, Cas. I've heard a lot about you.

I shake hands with both of them and then we all start deviding up work: there are more plates on the table than people in the kitchen, but we somehow get them all. Jo is really thorough when it comes to serving food. I think she takes even more pleasure in that than in interacting with her guests – she's spend almost all the time in the kitchen, leaving us to take care of ourselves. It works pretty well.  
When we all enter the room with snacks, a group immediately gathers to take some, and there's laughter and I feel pretty bad because it gets tight, so I return to my place near the group. Turns out Dean has saved me my place. Two people whose names I don't remember joined the group. We talk some more, and it's getting funnier with each minute, because over half of us are drinking alcoholic stuff.  
After a few beers a couple of people start dancing; mostly in pairs, but I notice there are some singles in there as well. I enjoy looking at them, but I don't dance myself. I am not a skilled dancer, and besides I didn't even drink to loosen up.  
Dean, however, did. That's why he wants to dance now and extends his hand to me. I politely decline his request. He tries again.

Dean: Cas, c'mon. It's a party. You needa dance.  
Me: I'm sorry, Dean, I don't usually do that.

Dean lets out a frustrated sigh, and I do the same. He directs one more pleading look at me, pouts and turns, walking away. He asks Anna to dance. I see her throwing an unsure glance at me, but then she accepts his hand and goes dancing with him.  
I watch them, because there's no reason to avoid it, and I see that even though Dean might have had three or four beers, his steps are steady and he doesn't look drunk. He's either a good drinker or the beer wasn't that strong. Anna seems pleased to dance with him, and it's not that unexpected – although he's not an experienced dancer, he knows his way around the dance floor, as he once told me on the chat.  
The song lasts for over five minutes, and during this time the group next to me somehow vanishes, Gabriel walking away to dance with a pretty brunette whose name was, I think, Kali; Lisa, who I was told was Dean's girlfriend for a while before he moved in here, goes to talk to Garth and his girlfriend, and the three remaining people decide to go join Jo, Brad and Isaac the kitchen, where they returned to get some more drinks. So, I'm pretty much left by myself, and I feel content with that. Garth waves a hand at me once to join them, but I don't feel especially willing to do that, maybe because Lisa is there, too.  
When the song ends, Dean comes back, holding a bottle of beer in one hand and Anna's wrist in the other. She's laughing over her drink and doesn't seem to mind sitting between me and him on the couch.

Anna: Hey, Cas, how you doin'? Jo's provided us with an almost endless supply of beer, we're not gonna finish it in a year, go try some!  
Dean: Yeah, I dunno how she's done that. 's a really good beer, though. My favorite.  
Me: Thank you, but I don't drink.  
Dean: C'mon, why?  
Me: My father doesn't approve of it. And I don't want to.  
Dean: 's only a beer, not a bottle of vodka. You'll be fine. Try some.

Dean shoves his bottle at me, and I don't know how to refuse, so I sigh and take a sip. It's bitter and not very tasty. I immediately give it back to him.

Me: Thank you. I don't want any more.  
Dean: Not your taste, hm?  
Me: Yes. Don't ask me to drink again.

He only laughs, and Anna watches the exchange with an amused expression. She barely drank a little bit, but not being a good drinker, she's already in a bit of a funny mood. I notice she's wearing the dress I advised her to buy, and I was right. She looks great.  
Gabriel and Kali approach us with their beers, and they're holding hands.

Anna: Wow, so you're a couple now?  
Gabriel: She's wonderful.  
Kali: Stop it, idiot.  
Dean: Congrats, let's drink!  
Gabriel: That's a way to celebrate!  
Anna: We might go dance?  
Kali: Yeah, definitely, my feet aren't hurting yet, so why not?  
Gabriel: Dean looks almost smashed though, you sure you can do it though?  
Dean: 'm not drunk, Gabe, not yet. Let's go. Cas, you hold my beer for a song?  
Me: Sure. Don't fall.  
Dean: Hahahah, real funny, Cas.

Anna giggles and Dean takes her hand to guide her backwards into the middle of the room. Kali looks at them amused, until Gabriel puts his arm around her waist and starts dancing with her, too. There are about ten people dancing and while some seem to be pretty drunk, it doesn't look like the party is going to end soon. I check my phone. It's 8 pm. Pretty early, though Jo doesn't plan on the party ending after midnight. She said something about Bobby and Ellen going back home before the dawn, so they should get the house clean earlier.  
I'm not fun at parties, I laugh internally when I realize I've been sitting on the same couch for the past two hours, not counting the times when I went to help Jo or to get some drinks. At least I'm not getting drunk and being ridiculous.  
Jo comes in with the people who were with her in the kitchen; they're carrying a big plate with pie. First thing I notice is Dean catching Anna's wrists and stopping her, and she laughs. Dean is looking at Jo, or rather at the plate she's holding, and follows her to the table. He is the first one to pick up the knife and take a piece of the pie. I stand up and join the group which had gathered there. Nobody can refuse a good pie.

Dean: 's absolutely delicious. Jo, I'm happy to live with ya.  
Jo: Shut up, Dean, your obsession is unhealthy.  
Dean: Might be unhealthy. But still awesome.  
Anna: You're hopeless.

He only smiles at her, mouth full of pie, and I take my own piece. It's really outstandingly _delicious_. But it feels like there's too many people there, so I return back to my safe zone on the sofa.  
Several people are focused on eating, and soon Jo has to go back to the kitchen to cut some more pieces, and it's much calmer than it was; nobody leaves yet, it's too early, but it seems like the party is getting to its further stage. Soon everyone will be smashed and kissing in the corners, and it will be overwhelming, and I will get a panic attack or not. Now though, I try to savor the taste of Jo's apple pie. It's sweet and calming, and I have no doubt I will be able to keep it down. Unless something bad happens.  
When I finish, I stand up and go to the kitchen to wash my plate, so at least this one piece of work doesn't fall on Jo. Surprisingly, there are no people there yet. I relax a little bit, realizing only now how tense I have been. I find the sink – being too lazy to turn on the light - and wash my plate.

Dean: Heya, Cas.

I jump, startled; for a person who has drunk not so little, he sure can be quiet. I turn off the water and put the plate down on the drier. Then I sigh and turn, wincing when I see Dean close to me, too close, in my personal space. He smells of beer, obviously. And cologne; he's probably used pretty much of it.

Me: Hello, Dean. Did you want to talk?  
Dean: Yeah, yeah. I've a question for ya.

He's not drunk, I judge by his moves and way of speaking – it will be long before he's smashed. But he's still not sober. In my dictionary not sober means unsafe, so I try to back away. He follows me until the back of my legs are pressed into the cabinet.

Dean: Quit the play, would ya? Why're you so separated?  
Me: Dean, please, step away. I'm uncomfortable.  
Dean: Okay, I will, jus' tell me, Cas. I wanna ask you out, but you're so... out, y'know. I really wanna get to know ya. Okay, listen, I'm just doin' this because the drinks've loosened me up and I'm probably gonna regret it but Cas, can I ask you out?

He did back away for half a step, which doesn't give me much comfort, but still feels a bit safer. And now he's just looking at me with these green eyes of his, and I don't know what to say, because it's way more complicated than 'yes' or 'no'.  
I look down, my head empty, and I feel lost. When I look at him again, I notice he's looking at my mouth. It's really stressful. I take a breath and I want to start speaking and-  
His lips are on mine, a quick brush, and there is a sweep of tongue and my heart stops.  
I shove him away with all of my strength and hear his voice like through a fog, and then I'm out in the hall, and ten seconds later I'm running out, my coat half on, bag and boots in my hand, and Jo is standing on the doorstep and calling my name. I don't turn around.  
I run all the way back, not stopping even when my feet are completely wet and I'm awfully, overwhelmingly cold.  
When I'm at home, I try to calm my breathing down so father doesn't hear me. I still go as fast as I can without being noticed, though, and it's straight to the bathroom.  
I throw up everything I can; when it stops, I notice my face is wet with tears. A choked sob escapes my throat, painfully dry. I'm shaking and I struggle to breathe.  
For a moment it seems like I hear the steps, and I stand up quickly and wash my face, avoiding looking at myself in the mirror. When I feel clean enough, I lean on the sink and wait. False alarm; nobody comes in. Dad is probably asleep, anyway. He goes to bed earlier on Fridays and the weekends.  
I return to my room and drain the water bottle, staring blankly at the wall. Thoughts are racing through my head, and I cry without making a sound.  
I feel like the world has ended.


	6. days after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again thanks to the wonderful [philo](http://megsfall.tumblr.com) who beta'd this chapter! you're the best ♥

It's two am.  
It's dark and quiet and I sit by my desk, staring at the wall, half clothed. My throat is burning. I won't get up.

It's four am.  
I'm in my pajamas, not bothering to take off the socks, lying on the covers on my bed. My throat burns like there's fire in there. My tongue is dry, as opposed to my cheeks. They're wet, even if I'm not crying anymore.

It's six am.  
It's not a big deal. It's not a big deal. It could have gone worse. Dean is not a bad person. He did what he thought would be right. I'm responsible for not pushing him away immediately. I'm to be blamed for his mistake.  
I feel like I'm going to choke.  
It was only a brush of lips, goddammit Cas, don't be a whining bitch. Don't make such a big deal out of a stupid fucking kiss.  
I gasp. My throat hurts.

It's nine am.  
The phone rings. The screen says it's Anna.  
Does Anna know what happened?  
I hope not. I don't pick up the phone.  
Soon, I fall asleep.

When I wake up, the clock shows six pm, and I know that if my father finds out I was asleep the whole time, he'll give me a lecture about keeping a healthy sleeping schedule. But I doubt he's checked on me. He's probably still sitting in the library, writing his silly books about angels.  
I get up and stretch, look at the clothes in a small pile on the floor and then it hits me, and I lose my breath. So, Dean violated my personal space, kissed me against my will and triggered a panic attack. I ran away from Jo's house, and there is a high chance I caught a cold. For now, I only have a headache.  
I can't be a drama queen, so I do get up, even if I don't want to, and I put on some loose clothes. Dad will know nothing about what happened. Nor will anyone who was not involved.  
Unless Dean told someone. Anna, or Jo, or everyone at the party. In this last case, I would kill him.  
I sit at my desk and almost open my laptop, but then I stop halfway through the move; the chat. Dean would not stop talking to me on the chat, as he doesn't know I'm that Cas. That is a fucked up situation.  
Chat isn't the only thing I can do with my laptop, but somehow it also is, so I end up not opening it at all. Instead, I go downstairs.  
There are two sandwiches on the table. I have no idea if dad left them for me or just didn't eat them himself for any reason. There is a note, though, which nicely informs me it's all “for Cas”.  
I chuckle to myself and don't take the sandwiches. I have no idea what to do with food. Have I really ever done that? Have I really eaten? Seems weird.  
I go for a glass of water. It's pleasant and cold on my tortured throat. I really like water.  
When I'm back in my room, not even having said 'hello' to dad – he wouldn't care anyway - I take a random book from my shelf of favorites and reread it entirely. It's not a long one. When I finish, it's 2 am and I feel tired again. I fall asleep as I am, fully clothed.

My days pass very quickly and in a very boring way; I sleep as long as I can before my back hurts, I drink water when my throat burns, I don't go out and don't talk to my dad (who hasn't bothered to check on me, probably hearing the steps and assuming I'm okay), I even force myself to eat once or twice, choking on food and then throwing it all up. I reread several books and don't turn on the laptop. My phone is off, too. It's a very pleasant way of living. And I don't let myself think about what happened at Jo's.  
It's only on Thursday that I finally turn my phone on and see about twenty missed calls and even more messages mostly from Jo, although there are several from Anna, too.

Jo 30-01: Dean told me everything. Jfc cas pick up ur phone  
Jo 31-01: Cas just pick up the phone pls  
Jo 01-02: He was really sorry u know  
Jo 01-02: Im begging u  
Jo 02-02: You stupid bastard. U dont even go do school  
Jo 02-02: I give up. Call me when ur done with sulking

These are several of the messages I got, and I wince at the knowledge that Dean told Jo about what happened. From Anna's messages, I can read that she hasn't heard about it all, since she asks several times.  
I sigh and put down the phone. I try to get up, but I lose balance and fall back on the back. After a while, I try again, slowly, and this time I succeed. The phone rings, then, and I give up. I pick up Jo's call.

Jo: Cas. Finally.  
Me: What do you want, Jo?  
Jo: Dean didn't want to do that. I'm sorry.  
Me: Yeah, sure, something possessed him.  
Jo: No, wait. Wait, Cas. Can you visit me soon?  
Me: I'm not sure, Jo. I'll tell you when I'm able to do that. I'm not feeling well.  
Jo: Promise me you will come to me before the end of next week.  
Me: Okay, I promise.  
Jo: I will tell you. I will explain you. And you will need to talk to Dean, since he's fucking horrified. He's not even talking to us. He's damn angry. You need to talk to him.  
Me: I will, Jo. Just... not now.  
Jo: Okay, Cas. Message me later, please.  
Me: I will. Bye.  
Jo: See you.

So Dean's angry. Yeah, if I were him, I would be pretty angry with myself too. That's why it's better not to be a douche, especially when it comes to kissing a person. Who hasn't given the permission.  
Something bothers me, though, and for the first time since that party, I turn my laptop on and log in the chat. As expected, there are several messages from Dean. Well, more than several. He's written me an essay.

Dw67: Cas, im so angry. So fuckin pissed  
Dw67: Sorry to unload this on u man but I need someone to rant to  
Dw67: I hope u dont mind? If u mind then idk just dont read this ok  
Dw67: I kissed her. I kissed the girl I told u I liked  
Dw67: And I was drunk and she didnt even give me a permission  
Dw67: I didnt even ASK for a fuckin permission  
Dw67: and I KNOW shes sensitive and maybe scared and stuff and I just  
Dw67: im such a stupid bastard I could have not drunk that evening  
Dw67: and I just like her so much u know? Like im getting more and more desperate each day because shes like completely unavailable and she isnt with anyone and yet she wont answer to me? This pissed me off and I drank and I was stupid and I just asked her out and instead of fuckin wait for her to answer I just kissed her like a damnedest douchebag just  
Dw67: and she ran away! Like, took her bag and clothes and ran almost fucking undressed through this snow and what did I even do  
Dw67: man im so fucking stupid  
Dw67: and I just... need her  
Dw67: how do I fix this

No. No, no, no. I don't like this.  
He feels guilty, I feel guilty, he feels angry, I feel angry.  
And I don't ever want to see him again, even though that's impossible. So we will have to, somehow, fix this. Like he said. Like Jo wants us to do.  
I was never so confused. I want Dean back, I guess, but then I don't ever want him back. Why the hell did he have to do this?  
Now this is massively fucked up. Really fucked up. And I don't know what to do, and I want everything at once. And every possible thing that can happen is just unacceptable.  
I sigh, hiding my face in my hands. I won't reply to him. I will pretend I've been busy and not online, and let's just hope he doesn't catch me. That would probably blow up my cover. And I will stay at home and wait until I'm ready to visit Jo and confront things. Because right now, I'm really not.  
I log out of the chat. Staring at my hands, I sit there for several minutes, and I hear my father calling from downstairs. Apparently he has decided to eat dinner with me. Very funny. But I do go to him – maybe I'll be able to play my role well enough.  
He even set up the table. Spaghetti – not cooked by him, that's for sure – is in the middle in a big, expensive bowl my dad once bought while on a trip in some other country, and our plates are neatly placed before our chairs. Everything is very elegant, and we haven't eaten that way since Michael moved out.  
He moves back the chair for me and gestures for me to sit. After I'm sat down, he moves to his side of the table, all in silence. And after putting the portions of the dish on our plates, we eat.  
I can't choke or spit out; he would know what's going on and get angry. So I swallow each bite, one by one, and in the silence I can hear the clock ticking.  
Dad doesn't speak a word to me. He didn't even say “hello”. It's only after we finish eating that he begins asking questions.

Dad: You haven't been going to school, Cassie, have you?  
Me: I haven't. I've been feeling sick.  
Dad: Okay. Get your notes and get better. Did you catch something on that party?  
Me: Maybe.  
Dad: You should be more careful the next time.  
Me: I will.  
Dad: When do you plan on going back to school?  
Me: Monday, I think.  
Dad: I hope your grades don't get worse.  
Me: They won't, I promise. Can I go now?  
Dad: Yes, you can, if you have to. I'll leave the dishes to Beth.

I feel so sick I can barely breathe, so I only nod and stand up. I run upstairs as fast as I can. All the food I've eaten sits heavily somewhere between my throat and my stomach, as if I've swallowed an elephant. When I finally reach the bathroom, I release it all and sigh in relief. My throat burns again and my breath stinks, but what I care for is that I don't feel sick anymore.  
I go back to my room, trying not to see myself in the mirror next to the door. I must look awful, but I don't need a confirmation. It would probably only get me down even more.  
There are certain days when it hits me how little I care. I should either want to be alive or want to die, yet I have no opinion. I should either care for my health or ruin it, seeking thin silhouette or any other trivial ideals, but I simply don't eat because it makes me sick, and that's all I've ever known and all I remember. And that's how most of my life generally goes, somewhere between yes and no, between caring and not caring, just doing things so I feel better at present, not looking at any possible future results of my actions.  
And then there's Dean and Jo, where I know I have to make a decision and where I feel like I have begun to _care_. Maybe for them, but probably more for myself. Well, Dean did hurt me, I didn't do anything bad to him, so it's pretty obvious that I care more about my contentment with the situation. Then again, there is nothing that I consider being a proper solution. And why does Jo care? Because she's almost his sister, or my best friend, or she just suddenly started to genuinely want me to find myself a safe group of friends?  
Might be also because, well, Dean and I basically ruined some part of her party, with me running out of there without even putting my boots on. A little bit dramatic, I'd say. I need to apologize to her.  
I will visit her on Monday, I promise myself. Three days to get ready should be enough.  
Michael texts me on Friday, inviting me for a walk and making it easier for me to last the day. I agree to go not hesitating even a bit; that's a great distraction, but not only that – I missed him. He might not be the perfect older brother, but he's the only real family that I have. Dad cannot be counted.  
I dress quickly, gather the things I need and go straight to the place where we had agreed to meet. It's still very cold, like winter decided to keep us frozen until we all surrender to it. Michael is late.  
I consider telling him about the situation; maybe at least a little bit. Maybe he'd help me. Maybe he wouldn't hurt me, wouldn't tell me to go away even if I tell him everything.  
Michael, however, isn't accepting and I have no idea how he would react.  
But that's exactly the same thoughts I have before each one of our meetings, and with each one the number of matters I'd have to tell him about is growing.  
I shiver, looking at a couple walking nearby, holding hands. They don't seem to be cold, or at least they don't seem to notice it. They look very much in love.  
Somebody pokes my shoulder and I jump, startled, but it's Michael. Finally.

Michael: Hello, Cas.  
Me: Hello. Did you really have to scare me?  
Michael: Yes I did, little sis. So, where are we heading?  
Me: To be honest, somewhere warm, please.  
Michael: So, Starbucks it is?  
Me: Yes, please.

We do walk arm by arm to Starbucks and he jokes more than he's ever joked; I feel like this girl he's with makes him much happier and relaxed. I tell him about school and the fact that I've not been going since Monday, and when he asks why, I become silent.

Michael: No, seriously. You don't look sick. What happened?  
Me: I just really don't want to talk about it.  
Michael: You can say anything to me. No really. Anything.  
Me: Yes?  
Michael: I know I'm usually an annoying dick, but I won't judge. Shoot.  
Me: A guy kissed me.

He stops and looks at me, looking a little bit surprised. To be honest, I feel a little bit insulted.

Michael: You mean against your will?  
Me: I certainly didn't want to kiss him.  
Michael: I'll kill the son of a bitch.  
Me: No, it's not like this. I like him. He's not a... dick, or anything. He was half drunk and I just, don't know.  
Michael: Are you defending him?

Am I defending him? No, I am not, I am still damn angry, but he doesn't deserve to be judged like this. Okay, he did a bad thing. A horrible thing. But what I define as a horrible thing might be an every-day-happening to someone else. Like those popular guys and girls at school. Drunken kisses all the time. And stuff, I don't know.

Me: No, I'm angry at him. But just, you don't know the reasons. And he isn't a dick.  
Michael: Okay, Cas, I'm trusting you on this one.

He opens the door for me and we go inside. It's pleasantly warm and I take my cap off. He orders two coffees, just as we like them, and we sit by a free table. It's not difficult to find one - Friday is still a work day, and it's early afternoon.

Michael: So, Cas, what's the backstory?  
Me: I, uh, it's very long. And I feel like you wouldn't be content with what I'd tell you, so I'll just describe you the situation vaguely, okay?  
Michael: Go on.  
Me: I've been talking to this guy on a chat, too.  
Michael: So?  
Me: He doesn't know it was me. He doesn't see the connection between the real life me and the chat me.  
Michael: Oh shit. Are you going to explain that?  
Me: Not very soon. I present myself on the chat... differently.  
Michael: How differently?  
Me: ...I don't want to answer that.  
Michael: Okay...  
Me: Anyway, on the chat we're friends, and we barely talk in the real life, and he somehow thinks he... likes me. And I, you know how I am. I'm not very... socially skilled.  
Michael: Yeah, I know that, Cas.  
Me: He got very angry. When he got drunk, it was like he became very desperate. And he asked me out, sounding pretty upset, and when I wanted to answer him, he kissed me.  
Michael: What were you going to say?  
Me: That I'm sorry, but I'm not interested. Anyway, I got a... panic attack, you might call it, and I ran out, and then when I logged in to the chat, he...  
Michael: Confessed everything to a friend?  
Me: Yes. Exactly. He said he needs me. And he's sorry. And angry. And Jo wants me to talk to him. I don't know.  
Michael: Do you like him?  
Me: Yes, I think I do.  
Michael: But not this way?  
Me: I'm not interested. In anyone. It's not a lie.

He sighs, sipping his cappuccino slowly and looking sideways, thinking. I watch him and how his thick, dark eyebrows move in consideration. He's probably the most handsome out of our family and sometimes I'm very jealous.

Michael: You've been avoiding him ever since, right? That's why you don't go to school, not to see him. Got you.  
Me: ...yes.  
Michael: Talk to him, and to Jo, she seems to be a nice girl. Don't worry. If you talk, you will sort it out, whichever way. And let him apologize, okay?  
Me: Yes. Thank you. I will talk to them.  
Michael: It's difficult, but you're a strong girl and he likes you, it will go back to normal, you'll see.  
Me: Okay.

We talk for the next half an hour straight, never going back to that topic, though. Michael is very nice to me, nicer than he ever was, and I don't hear him saying anything hurtful. He usually does that, probably mostly unconsciously; that's how he'd been raised. But this time he seems to carefully avoid saying anything that would be either hateful or plainly rude, and I wonder if that's his new girlfriend's influence, or if he's just started to care. There is a general change visible in him, and though it's not big, a positive shift certainly exists. That will probably give me more to think about, and not only concerning the conflict of telling him about my issues or not.  
When we go our ways it's almost four pm, and he walks with me almost up to my house – no longer ours. He then waves and goes, and I'm alone, going home to get changed before dad comes back. The coffee I've drank sits painfully in my stomach, but strangely, I don't feel sick.  
I text Jo: I'll be there tomorrow eleven am. And though Saturdays are not my favorite days, somehow, I feel I'm going to be able to do it. I need to face it and though this whole matter still makes me feel angry and frustrated, this is the only way to end it. Michael was right.  
Dad doesn't try to put any food in me, which I'm grateful for. It's not something I need, though I really need to get back in control soon, or I'm going to be exhausted very quickly. I drink a lot of water to somehow make up for not eating. I guess it's not a very successful attempt. Still, it fills my stomach.  
Jo texts me back pretty late, because it's almost 8 pm when I hear the signal:

Jo 04-02: Im happy. Thanks for letting me know at least I'll clean ok

I smile. Jo is a good person. Even if she's annoying, I like her. She might be the person I'm going to tell first. Unless somebody guesses or somehow earns more of my trust or, I don't know. But she won't reject me, of that I'm sure.  
I have no other things to do, so I watch Classic Who until it's 11 pm and I go to bed.  
But not to sleep. My brain is overactive; I think I might need sleep pills if this doesn't stop. As much as my thoughts have been quiet and quick today, at night they turn into noisy, big shapes. And in this crowd I feel lost; at once, I think about Michael, Dean, Jo, Anna, myself, and I don't remember anymore; I'm losing my mind behind closed eyelids. And maybe that helps me, because I fall asleep.


	7. broken pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first, i apologize for a writer's block so long. thank you for kudos and the kind words, i love you all and i am surprised this fic got a feedback so nice.  
> comments motivate me, so don't hesitate to leave a word or two on whether you like the story. i will also welcome arts, if a trans!cas gives you any inspiration.  
> i'm sorry for mistakes and inconsistencies in this chapter, but the writer's block still hangs over me like a hangover, and my head aches too much to reread it. i have noticed mistakes in what i checked, so there may be some where i didn't reread.  
> i am pretty proud of this chapter, though. it crosses the line with some 'serious writing', read and you'll see. i feel like i am developing.  
> enjoy!

My back hurts when I wake up and I stretch excessively for a couple of minutes before actually getting up. The clock shows 9.43 am. In an hour I need to go out to see Jo. That might be stressful, or not. I hope it won't be.  
Saturdays are the days when I at least attempt to dress differently than to school; but as I don't really own many clothes, it's pretty difficult. However, being able to wear jeans once a week is definitely a pleasure. I'm getting more and more sick of the skirts every passing day. It doesn't seem to bother the girls; I pretend it doesn't bother me either, my mind converting into a way of thinking that leads me to being convinced I'm actually wearing a kilt and there's nothing really girly in my clothing.  
Sweet denial.  
So, I wear jeans and a loose sweater, which is also a pleasant change from the tight blouses that are a part of school wear, and I even brush my hair a couple of times, though I don't often do that on Saturdays. I'm ready to go before it's 10.15; I go downstairs intending to eat breakfast.  
Dad is home. Oh. Didn't expect him, as he has lately seemed to work on the weekends.

Me: Hi, dad.  
Dad: Hello, Cas. Are you going to eat something?  
Me: Yes, I was going to get some cereal. I'm going to Jo soon. In like, ten minutes.  
Dad: Okay. I'm glad you're going to visit her. Some contact with people will always do good to you.

I don't respond, shuffling through various shelves to find the cereal, half empty but over a month old, and open the fridge to get milk. I expect dad to comment on how I'm eating cereal with cold milk instead of warming it, but he doesn't say anything, just looks, eating his sandwich, leaned over a book.  
We eat in silence, and when he finished, he ruffles my hair – it feels weird – and leaves to his library. I sigh, putting the bowl into the sink, not very eager to wash it; dad will probably do it for me anyway. I put on my shoes and coat and leave into the snow covered world. It is still as beautiful as it has always been this winter.  
I must appear very punctual, standing on Jo's doorstep at 10.59, and she smiles at me, opening the door. She's pale, paler than I've ever seen her, and has purple-black shades under her eyes – not intense enough to look like she got beaten up, but dark enough to be worried. I'm going to ask her later.

Jo: You want some tea, Cas?  
Me: Yes, thank you, Jo. No sugar, please.

She nods, smiles and waves at me to take off my boots, while she goes to the kitchen and I hear her talking to Ellen; the always loving mother asking if she should bring us sandwiches, Jo saying we only need one or two, as she is not hungry, but I might be. I frown. Then, she comes back to me and leads us to her room.

Jo: Dean and Sam are out on a trip with Bobby, that's why I invited you.  
Me: Okay. I'll let you start. What did you want me to say?  
Jo: No, it's not like that. I just wanted to give you some comfort and talk through it all.  
Me: Ah, okay.  
Jo: Why did you react how you reacted?

I look down at my cup of tea. It is not a topic to be approached as I did with Michael, because Jo is different. Jo knows Dean.  
Jo has shades under her eyes.

Me: Let me ask you something first.  
Jo: Hmm?  
Me: Your eyes are dark. You're pale. You lost weight.  
Jo: So? Everyone has such moments.  
Me: No, Jo. You're not eating.  
Jo: You too, aren't.  
Me: No, don't talk to me like that. I'm worried. What happened?

She sighs heavily, as in resignation, and turns her head away.

Jo: You won't tell anyone?  
Me: I won't.  
Jo: Yeah, I don't eat, I admit it. And yes, I did... different things. I just want to feel lighter, okay?

I extend my hand and hold hers, even though that's very romantic and cliche, but the corners of her mouth go up a little bit.

Me: Jo, listen. I know this. We're in this together, okay? Though, I don't want to be thinner, I just began not to eat once and now it's just difficult to me to do it. That doesn't mean anything. I understand you.  
Jo: So you won't tell me to stop doing it?

I laugh bitterly. I won't even tell myself to stop doing it, unless it's for a special occasion.

Me: I'd like you to stop, but I can't just tell you to. But I can tell you something I hold secret.  
Jo: Yes?  
Me: I'm not... what you thought me to be, okay? What anyone thinks me to be. And I can't believe I'm trying to tell you. I don't know if I can.  
Jo: I don't even know what that means.

I'm silent, smiling a little bit and looking at an unspecified object somewhere to my left. I don't even see, I just look, trying to gather my thoughts.  
Me: You know why I only introduce myself as Cas? Why I hate my full name but embrace the shortened version of it?  
Jo: Do you mean... Like, Cas sounds like a boy's name?

I chuckle.

Me: Yes. You're really smart. That's exactly why I use it. It's... a boy's name.  
Jo: Oh, I... I thought so.  
Me: What do you mean?  
Jo: You're just so unsure and I, you know, I looked at you and you're always like somebody forced you to wear a stranger's skin. You may not know, but I'm a freak over psychology and some similar stuff, and gender belongs to that, and... I'm sorry I tried to get you together with Dean. He's completely in love with Cassie, Cassandra, whatever. Whenever I hear him actually saying 'Cas', it's when he mentions that guy he chats with, who knows who he is.  
Me: Oh.  
Jo: Yeah... He might or might not be a bit too engaged in talking with this guy. I mean, they haven't even seen each other.  
Me: Jo, they have.

She looks at me, raising her eyebrow, and she looks like she's thinking intensively; then it seems to hit her. Her eyes widen in something akin to horror, and she looks like she saw a ghost.

Jo: No. You aren't?  
Me: I am.

I sigh. Seems like certain things have uncovered.  
Ellen arrives with sandwiches just when we're not saying anything, which is a good thing, as she couldn't have possibly overheard our conversation. When she leaves and we're sure she's back in the kitchen, Jo continues.

Jo: I'm not saying anything, but you should tell him.  
Me: No way, Jo. He will hate me.  
Jo: He won't! I'm talking to him about my interests pretty often and unlike some others, he's never said trans people are freaks, or something like that. He's interested and accepting. He even wonders if he knows such person. He wouldn't say anything bad about you. He would try to help.  
Me: Jo, I don't want his sympathy.

She sighs a bit angrily, rolling her eyes.

Jo: You know, Cas, not all the people who like you are sympathetic to you. Maybe we just genuinely want to help you get through the shit you're going through, haven't you thought about that? You think I don't see how unhappy you are? If you won't get some help, then what are friends for?  
Me: Jo, I don't want to talk about that. I really don't. Can we watch some movie, or something?

She sighs and agrees. We look through her bookmarks of the films she wants to see and choose some old American horror. Including ghosts, bleeding walls, stuff like that. Relaxing.  
When it ends, Jo is curled under a blanket, looking at the screen with wide eyes, and I'm just kind of sitting there and yawning. It was not a good film, but apparently all the gore and mystery stuff scared Jo enough so she doesn't sleep at night.

Me: It's after 4. I should go already, or dad will be angry, I think.

Though I know he doesn't care. I just really need to go for a walk in the forest before it gets really dark, and the sky already has a pretty colour of ink, so I don't have much time.

Jo: Won't you stay a bit more?  
Me: Sorry, Jo. 

She ruffles my hair, smiling at me. In her eyes, looking tired and sick, but not yet dead, I see some warmth I'd never expect of her. Partners in crime, I think, smiling back at her.

Me: Please eat something for the supper. Anything. And keep it down.  
Jo: Okay. You too.

I smile again and put on the winter clothes, saying goodnight to Ellen and soon leaving the house. I go for a short walk through the forest, but only as long as it takes to go home, because it's too dark to be walking around alone for too long. The cold air leaves me refreshed, and I come home in a decent mood.  
I see Dad standing in the kitchen, cooking – probably dinner – and humming. When he hears me entering, he smiles at me and points at the pan.

Dad: Spaghetti!  
Me: Always good.  
Dad: Aren't you happy?  
Me: How do you even know how to cook that?  
Dad: I don't. I'm trying with the recipe. Mrs Williams took a free day today, and unfortunately we didn't have food.  
Me: Huh.

That is something seriously worrying, because I think he hasn't cooked anything since Mom died. Hopefully he doesn't poison us to death. Or maybe I don't care if he does. Wouldn't it be nice and dramatic if someone found our dead bodies on the chairs, sitting still as we have been, in undisturbed silence? And I would always be remembered as Cassandra Novak, the girl who got poisoned by her dad. I snort. Those are one kind of stupid thoughts.  
But he makes the spaghetti, apparently having been finishing it when I came home, because i barely manage to leave some of my things in my room and turn on the computer when he calls me downstairs. Curious, I go, standing stunned in the middle of our mahogany stairs, because the smell hits my nose, and it is delicious. Doesn't seem particularly poisonous, I think.  
I sit down by the table across from him and he smiles unsurely, giving me the plate. I try to smile back and probably fail, but I still take the fork and put it into the dish, mixing it properly. I then take a bite, perhaps bigger than I can swallow, but that's okay. It really is heavenly, not tasting like made by someone who hasn't cooked for the past six years; more like by a person with a long, good kitchen experience.

Me: How did you make it? It's tasty.  
Dad: Mrs Williams left me her favourite recipe. But, well, I thought to merge it a little bit with that of Mary.  
Me: Mom made such a good spaghetti?  
Dad: Oh yes, she just didn't cook after you were born. Was afraid, or something. I... don't really know.

I nod and take an even bigger bite, and my mouth may even burst, but this is heaven. I like it even more than the burgers, which were always my favourite dish. Now dad will have to find a way to convince Mrs Williams to change her ways of making spaghetti; or make it himself, which I doubt he would do.  
I offer to wash the plates – or it's rather dad's stare that makes me do it, clearly saying he wants me to be useful for once. When I finish cleaning them, he's gone.  
I walk up to my room and stop in the doorway, scratching my neck absently. I'm not really in mood to watch anything and as far as I remember, I have finished all the books I wanted to read. So, nothing to do.  
I log in to the chat, and there are no new messages, but Dean is online. Why not?

Casscade: Hello, Dean.  
Dw67: Heya Cas  
Casscade: How are you doing? How is the matter with that girl?  
Dw67: Idk she doesn't talk to me I haven't even seen her at school  
Casscade: That's pretty bad.

I chuckle a little bit realizing how I'm literally saying I'm sorry for me ignoring him, but not saying I'm sorry for ignoring him. Seems like that's two whole different things.

Casscade: What do you want to say to her?  
Dw67: Apologize, mainly. And, I don't know. I won't ask her out after I've ruined everything.  
Casscade: I don't know about girls, to be honest.  
Dw67: You don't date?  
Casscade: Girls, no.  
Dw67: You're gay?  
Casscade: You could say, yes.  
Dw67: Cool. Didn't know that.

I try to understand if he meant something positive or negative under that „cool” word, but I get another message.

Dw67: I kind of swing both ways, but mostly girls. I mean, how can you not like girls?  
Casscade: Outside of not finding them attractive, I have my own reasons to not like girls' bodies really much.

Yeah, and that's a pretty story for plain hatred for the body you see every day and are forced to call yours, even if it isn't. That shouldn't have anything to do with liking girls or not, but apparently I'm just the case who's more influenced by it.  
At least, Dean seems indifferent, and Dean is bisexual which absolutely shouldn't give me hope because though I like him, it's not so big as to want him to like like me. But it kind of cheers me up.  
And there's a new message, oh.

Annael: IF YOU DON'T REPLY TO ME ONCE AGAIN I WILL KILL YOU  
Annael: JO HAD TO FILL ME IN ON YOUR SITUATION I WAS SO FUCKING WORRIED

That's a way to show your worry. 

Casscade: I'm sorry, Anna. I was not exactly in the mood.  
Annael: FUCK YOU.  
Casscade: I doubt you'd like that.  
Annael: HARD.  
Annael: And don't ever think you can just vanish from school. Homework will hit you. And you deserve it.  
Casscade: Shut it, Anna, please. You are not informed about what has happened, are you?  
Annael: I still have NO IDEA. You and Jo are like fucking enigmas and I can't crack you.  
Casscade: Okay. So please, keep your opinions to yourself, can you?  
Annael: …okay Cas. Sorry. But that STILL gives u no right to worry me like you did!  
Casscade: I said I was sorry, Anna.

Dw67: I won't ask.  
Casscade: Don't. Maybe I will tell you. One day.

Annael: Okay. When will we meet? Maybe at school? U need to come back one day you know  
Casscade: It's the beginning of February, Anna. If I wanted, I could stay in until June, and just pass the exams, then.  
Annael: Don't even joke to me like that.  
Casscade: You know I'm pretty often at school. You don't have to worry.  
Annael: Whatever. Also, Dean makes sad eyes all over the school, he wants to see you.  
Casscade: He will. But please, don't mention him. And don't ask.  
Annael: Okay.

I can almost hear her sighing at her computer desktop. She is like an overprotective mother I never had. My real one was what someone would call „chill”, I think.  
I don't remember much of my childhood. It is a big blur: I remember Mom's laugh and how dad always wanted to please her. They rarely argued, but I thought their relationship lacked some harmony. Now that I think about that, they probably disagreed over a lot and tried to keep it calm to stay together; but I'm not the best at guessing relationship patterns, and there's no one to ask.  
Michael has been the good son, but he was always of a too stubborn nature – when he wanted something, he needed to get it, when he had his opinion, he would defend it to death. Or being grounded, as had been with him and our parents – mostly dad though, since Mom seemed quiet and cared less about if her children had different opinions. Dad was always awkward and maybe a little bit insane, like he never knew what he wanted; when he punished us, it was more like „ugh, they did this wrong, I guess I should give them an unnice thing so they learn?” than any actual angry punishment. It was after Mom's death that he lost it and instead of looking for a punishment after a „crime” happened, he sought for a crime to be able to punish. That's probably what drove Michael to the edge – and Michael was never very liberal, I'd say he was more similar to dad than to anyone else.  
I was my Mom's beloved child, and I think she suspected how I may feel. I never knew I was a boy before I turned fifteen; before that it may have been suspicions or preferences I couldn't quite explain why I had, and there was always the hatred for my full name that I still bear, but it wasn't quite knowledge. And she let me wear boy clothes, hats, ties and let me cut my hair before she died – we cut it so short it was sticking up and out in basically every direction, and she looked at me then and told me I'm her messy little angel. And I didn't know she was sick and her own body was eating her from the inside, so I was free of worries and enjoyed that time; maybe that was for the best.  
Dean didn't much want to continue with the topic and probably didn't know what to say, so he was silent until he said goodnight. Anna tried to sass me a few times but went to sleep soon, too; and so, it was barely eleven pm, and I had nothing to do.  
I went to sleep and after lying uselessly for ten minutes, I got bored and began flipping through an old family album I have found months ago and never had had a chance to look at before. Or will.  
The first page shows my dad when he was little; it's strange, seeing him without his usual beard and glasses. He was pretty cute, actually; not very similar to me, but one could find some common features if they wanted. I am actually very similar to Mom, whose pictures are on the next page – blue eyes not visible on the black and white images, but clear in my memory.  
Then, there are pictures from their wedding; dad smiling, awkward as ever, and Mom beaming, her cheeks red like the roses in her hands. The children around them are throwing rice for luck, and dad's brother Zachariah, whom I haven't met since I was little, grins behind them, a quarter of him cut by the edge of the picture. It all looks so happy and peaceful; they were all unaware of the future.  
Next, Mom and dad and little Michael in their arms; then, all three of them, Michael a little bit more grown up, and me, a baby, a few weeks old maybe. After that, a time jump: the next pictures show me and Michael in various situations while we were six to ten years old, sometimes Mom or dad sitting next to us and smiling. No real family portraits, up until one last photo, taken when I have cut my hair. Now looking at it I realize I am, in fact, a little bit similar to Michael; we may have some different features and different hair colours, but he inherited some of the same things I did, a nicely shaped, straight nose being one of them.  
After Mom's death there are only a few pictures, mostly of me, eating, sleeping, reading, whatever; some are of Michael, too, and one of dad, but not taken by one of us; I don't know who took it. The photos slowly stopped appearing and the continuity of the album broke, like we have years ago, after Mom died and then for the second time, after Michael moved out.  
With a sigh, I lay back to sleep, my main thought being how I can stop myself from being broken like my whole family is; though it might be a selfish thought, I may be the biggest victim of all these twists.  
And there is one name that runs around my head and I don't know why and what to do about it; it just is, like it had anything to do with the topic, like _he_ has anything to do with how I can stop myself from breaking.  
 _Dean._


	8. To the last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO INCREDIBLY SORRY FOR LEAVING THIS FOR SO LONG.  
> I have been feeling very bad in the last months, and there is school, and there is so much happening. This chapter wouldn't happen for the next cople of weeks, and maybe not at all, if not for Cynthia, who left me a comment just today and I realized that someone cares. And bam, I found motivation and wrote half of this chapter - one half I had already written in September - today, in the time span of about one hour.  
> I do honestly hope you enjoy this very late chapter. And I will try, I will TRY, to post the next one before Christmas. And post at least once a month. Because the more I write, the more motivated I get, that's how it works.

Sundays are boring days, especially when you're an asocial, hopeless person, only occasionally dragged out of house by the few friends you have.  
I'm not too willing to get up, so I end up lying in bed until noon; my stomach rumbles, then, and perhaps I need something to eat so I don't pass out. But at the thought of food I feel sick, so I leave that for later. I am always 'leaving for later', a thought passes my mind, but I don't really care. If I did, I would just go and eat.  
I get up, gathering my favourite warm socks from the floor and putting them on. It's cold, as always. I look around for a sweater or something equally warm, but there's nothing. I sigh, get up and head towards my bathroom.  
A silent voice distracts me while I'm walking by the stairs, and that's weird: since Michael left, there has been no voices in here outside of the rare moments when I and dad talk. Now that's definitely dad, and it seems like he's talking to someone on the phone – but he literally never uses the phone and it is here mainly for his business events I don't even care about. Curious, I step a bit closer to the stairs.

Dad: I'm telling you, you can't do that. She's staying with me.

That says a lot and nothing. The „she” is probably me, as I'm the only one who's staying with dad. 

Dad: No, Michael. I don't know why you called.

Michael? Wants me to go somewhere with him or...?

Dad: Cassandra lives with me here, and she will not live anywhere else. I won't accept any requests from you, as you denied mine.

...live with him. Right. My big – slightly older, in fact – brother probably wants me to live with him so I don't absorb my father's poison. Yes, that is probably the context of this idea, and it doesn't matter anyway; it was simply a childish idea to call, the proof of which is that father didn't agree. And though I am eighteen, I don't want a war, so I will not leave until I can make a living.   
Which will probably be never, because I'm as useless as I can be. Sketching doesn't count, even if I'm pretty good at it, I've never been serious enough to be able to get to an art college. Which, I should have been.  
Dad wouldn't allow me to a college anyway, like it was with Michael, but Michael didn't care.  
Well, Cas, not good at caring about your own goddamn future, are you. These might be family genes or something.  
I sigh and resume my walk to the bathroom, not even a bit hungry anymore, and find my favorite sweater in there. It's black and fluffy and warm. Its sleeves are too long, so when my hands are cold, I can hide them.  
I really need to confront Dean, tell him who I am, talk it all out; reasonably, what bad can come out of it? He seems to be pretty accepting, and if he doesn't hate me – which Jo told me he wouldn't – he will stop his ridiculous crush on me, and everything would be all pink flowers and cute birds. At least in theory.  
The thing is, I can't really tell him. I'm not good at telling people, Jo found out by herself and she's the first person to know, the rest either knowing me as a girl or as a guy, no backstory added. Dean will not be as good at guessing, so I will have to be very forward with telling him, and he also might be pretty angry with me for lying to him.  
Sometimes I feel like I live in a soap opera.   
But soap operas don't have frustrated trans guys, their sad friends with decent boyfriends and one objectively average (though extremely attractive) guy who's after the trans guy, not knowing who he really is.  
Or do they?

I take my phone out and stare at the screen, like it's going to give me the answers I need; it's always about these _answers_. I hate questions.  
Scrolling through my contacts, Jo's name pops up, and like that, I open a new text window. I'm not thinking when I type and send:

Me 06-02: Can you send me Dean's phone number?

Now that's curious, because that's not thought through at all, and why did I even ask for his number? Like I can't just meet him at school.  
But Jo replies enthusiastically, sending me his number along with many metaphorical kisses. I don't understand anymore; does she, despite what she said, still want to get us together or does she just really care about us sorting it all out? Or rather, _me_ sorting it all out.  
It will be a couple of weird days, and sometimes I think it's all going too fast, and there's too many things to check and change and put in order, and it involves so many people, but no one but me – because I'm the big riddle. Dean's crush doesn't seem like a weird thing to him. Wait and see.  
I save Dean's number and sit down on the bed, unsure of what to do with myself. Computer seems to be the best option, so I approach it and turn it on.  
It works smoothly as always. I pride myself in taking good care of my beloved with whom I spend most of my life; I'm careful about what is in there and what should not be, and perhaps the only thing you could accuse me of is drinking in a way too close proximity to it. I take a second for silent wonder – why does dad not control if, when and how I use the Internet? He doesn't allow anything, and not that I want him to step into the most treasured part of my life, but it's plain strange. Isn't the Internet the almighty source of any information that should not be allowed to a person who's not allowed to cut their _hair_? Oh God.  
I open the chat and am pleased to find that most of my friends are there. Also, that there are no new messages; every single day I sigh with relief that Dean and Anna don't discuss me and my nickname doesn't flow out during the conversation, and I am not burned by my carelessness. It made me use one account for all kinds of friends and makes me not do anything about it.   
Anna seems to catch me almost immediately. Her reflexes are like those of a baseball player.

Annael: CAS!  
Annael: Listen up, I met this guy  
Annael: His name is Gabe. I think u met him at the party  
Annael: Anyway turns out his brother, his name was Balthazar or something, studied in Kansas and comes back to live in here this summer  
Annael: Gabe showed me his picture. Totally gorgeous I mean blond and blue eyes and all  
Annael: Im excited!! I chatted with him already and he's so charming and omg he should totally be friends with our group!  
Casscade: Are you sure that all you want is being friends with him?  
Annael: Shut up Cas, u know me way too well  
Annael: but YES what i want is for him to join us because he's cool and besides!! he was one of the favorites in uni and we might get some better rides or something *wink wink*  
Annael: Ignore me I dont know much about unis okay? I'm stupid and I didnt even check any info about my further education (bullshitation btw)  
Casscade: So you'd also like educational profits?  
Annael: However u word it Cas. 

So, seems like Anna has found herself a new crush, though she might not know it yet. After the first sentence, I had a bad faint feeling it would be Gabriel – but luckily, no, and he seems to really like Kali. I wouldn't like to be simultaneously happy for them and sad for one of my best friends. That would be a tragedy to my already very dramatic private and social life.

Casscade: Go get him, tiger.  
Annael: sassycassy

I smile. She is sweet, and her and Jo are my favorite people in the world.  
The words „and Dean” try to tear their way into my head, but i don't let them in.

Casscade: What does Balthazar study?  
Annael: He majors in theology. Doesnt seem the type does he now  
Casscade: I haven't met him, yet, you know?  
Annael: u will remember my words when you do. Hes a total badass and very flippant

I accept those words, drinking a glass of water.   
There is no sign of Dean on the chat for the rest of the day, and that's probably for the best. Maybe their trip with Bobby wasn't just a one day thing.

***

It takes three weeks and a lot of convincing from Jo and therapy-like talks with her to get me to make my decision.  
Her plan is to meet up with me and Dean and talk through all the necessary stuff in a subtle way, not forcing me to tell everything and not forcing me to be alone with him in this. We thought about inviting Anna, too, but I decided I can handle her myself; that would be too many people at once. Now, she wants to be the one doing the part of the job that would be answering Dean's possible questions – those she can answer, of course - and I am to tell him the story, from the beginning until now. She said we need to start with showing him my chat nickname, so he gets the two people he was talking to were the same person; his embarrassment might help us get through the rest – not like he vented to me a hundred times about his crush on, well, _me_.  
But, first thing's first, it's the beginning of March and soon there would be the anniversary of mom's birthday. Five years after she died, she would have been forty two, and it's the second anniversary without Michael, but I will probably spend at least a part of that day with him, this time. This, I don't need to worry about, but the part with dad being extremely bitchy and pulling me around through the cemetery, well, that will be no good. He loved Mom and I get it, but I don't get why he can't try being happy without her, for her. Bad things happen and as much as i miss her, I prefer celebrating her memory and not crying that I will actually never see her again – because I will actually never see her again, if that makes sense.  
Maybe that is just me. And maybe, he looks at me just the same way, if he even ever notices how unhappy I am.

BanJo: Hi Cas  
BanJo: When r we doin this meeting thingy???  
BanJo: Not to stress u out or sth but we are actually GRADUATING in three months and a half  
BanJo: So idk if u really wanna sort this all out it would be niiiice if u actually did it some time before summer

...That is not the most pleasant thing to read after you wake up the day before your mom's birthday, on a slippery cold awful day and with a terrible headache. But shit happens, as Jo sometimes says, and I need to accept it. What I will not accept is making me do things right after I decide I'll do them, and that I do not avoid telling Jo.

Casscade: Jo, I have only just decided. Please give me some time  
BanJo: Cassie u KNOW i love u but i just cant wait okay????  
BanJo: U have been waitin for too long. Hiding for too long. I hate that  
BanJo: im only worried  
Casscade: I love you, too.   
Casscade: And I haven't been hiding for too long. I have only just turned eighteen, not even half a year ago. My father would kick me out if I said something.

And now that is something. If he actually kicks me out, I will be able to live with Michael. That is a weird idea, he won't let me go if I don't say anything, but if I do, he won't let me stay. And do I want to live with Michael? I definitely wouldn't say it's the greatest dream of my life – but God, yes. Maybe he wouldn't accept me, but he wouldn't ever throw me out like trash. He isn't the most liberal and the perfectest brother ever, neither is my dad the worst father ever, I would even say they are kind of similar – but one denies and throws out what he can't accept, and the other one... well, he would probably just raise his eyebrows and say, 'whatever'. That is the kind of a person Michael is, and I don't even know who I am. I think I am just accepting, that is all. I don't think having a child in the future would be a good idea, though, so I am not even going that far with these thoughts.

BanJo: We would take u. U would live with us. Here, or in the college apartment we're getting  
Casscade: I am not going to any college, I might have told you.  
BanJo: What why???  
Casscade: I am not getting perfect grades and I am absent at least one day each week.  
Casscade: Also, I don't think my father would let me live anywhere else. I am supposed to stay in this house until he dies, and probably until I do.  
BanJo: He wouldnt let u go anywhere else now but he would kick u out if u told him everything??? thats some fucked up shit hes got going  
Casscade: You are literally reading my thoughts.  
Casscade: But mine were way more polite.  
BanJo: Hahah, u are endearing  
Casscade: I thought mostly along the lines of 'Michael wants me to live with him and my dad doesn't want to let me and if he kicks me out i can go live with my brother what do i do', and so on.  
BanJo: Wait, Michael what???  
BanJo: COME TO MY HOUSE RIGHT NOW.  
BanJo: We r doing war strategies tonight. Bring ur pillow. Tell ur dad or dont.  
Casscade: He won't notice I'm gone if I come back before he wakes up in the morning.  
BanJo: Thats what im saying.  
Casscade: Is Dean there?  
BanJo: Yes he is. Youre gonna tell him tonight. Get nervous and down here im waitin  
Casscade: okay.

That is kind of meekly when it comes to me, and maybe I just don't let the nervousness come to my brain, but I don't feel anxious at all. It's Dean, and it's important, and it's Michael, and dad, and me. Who cares about outings, this is about most of my life. And yes, there are friends. Wow, I have friends. That is strange, now.  
I run to my bed and take my pillow, as Jo asked – not _because_ she asked, I just really like to sleep on soft things and she probably wouldn't give up any one of her thousand pillows. Dean might share, but I don't want to count on that. Not Dean, not asking him for anything, no Dean at all. Let's pretend there is no Dean in this situation. I am coming to Jo to discuss war plans. About my dad kicking me out and my brother... kicking me in? I think about this way too much now.  
I stop in the middle of the room, hands full of various things, and breathe in.  
Everything is easier, but more difficult, because what is happening comes crashing down in my mind, and it is a battle already, but what Jo said isn't just what she said, it will be an actual _war_. A war for my father, a war for me, a war for Michael. And for Dean, if he decides to care. Even if he doesn't, it will be some war for him as well. And then there is Jo, with her strategy. This girl could be a soldier. I think I can recall she has a gun somewhere in her house, but it is too far to think about it now. The only sentence on my mind is 'I don't want a war', and I have only just thought it this morning.  
With a hurricane in my head, I find my bag and put some clothes in it, and I don't even know if these are the right clothes to change, but that's the least of my problems now. Then, I rush to the bathroom to use the toilet, and I stop by the mirror for a couple of seconds.   
Stupid. That's what I feel I look like. I am going to tell my friend I am a man, and he will look at this pretty, girly person with boobs. Small boobs, almost no hips at all, but what he will see is not a man, not a boy.  
There are scissors and a razor in the lower shelf, and thinking no more, I lean down and reach for them. I have never done anything with them, but my hands are moving surely, and half a meter of long hair is lying on the floor already, and I look at them, and God, what have I done? But I move further, and surely, and up to the socket, there is the buzzing sound, and it buzzes near my head, on my head, through my head. It lasts a couple of minutes, as I put agonizingly precise strokes through my hair. Back to scissors. Cut, cut, cut. The length is decreasing, and my pupils dilate. I make my hair stand on some hairstyling gel. Then just final cuts and... And.  
Oh my God, what will father say.  
My hair is very short in the back of my head and on the sides of it. Maybe long as a nail's width. And on the top, there are spiked, thick hair, and their cut doesn't make any sense, but Jo will help. Jo will surely help. What Jo will do is take scissors and make them look good, because Jo always helps.  
This is madness, but I'm free.  
I take my bag and run downstairs, watching out for dad so he doesn't see me. But he is in his library, as always.


	9. Look out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe all goes well; maybe it doesn't at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you that have motivated me, kudos'd and commented. I realize one and a half of a month isn't quick, but I still feel proud I didn't abandon this fic until March.  
> I have two weeks of winter break now, and I plan to write at least one chapter during that time. Also, as you can see, a chapter number of twelve was added, and I'm not sure this is how it all turns out, but it might be.  
> Hope you enjoy.

It only takes a couple of minutes' worth run to get to Jo's, and I pant so heavily I don't hear her opening the door. But I hear her stunned gasp, and then I remember, and I don't wear any kinds of headwear at all.

Jo: What the hell have you done, Cas?

I stand up straighter, still breathing heavily.

Me: I think I'm going to need your help, Jo.

She takes my hand and pulls me into the house, through the hall, waits until I take my boots off and then leads me into the bathroom. We haven't passed anyone on the way; maybe the late evening's atmosphere has made them close themselves in their rooms.  
Jo gives me a low chair and pushes me down to sit on it, still not saying a word. Then she takes the scissors. There is this annoying sound of hair getting cut, and I keep my eyes closed. There's no need to check on what she's doing, besides, there is no mirror in front of me anyway. Cut by cut, I feel more naked with each one.

Jo: Finished!

I stand up, but instead of looking at myself in the mirror, I turn and look at her. It feels as if my face shows no emotion at all – maybe tiredness – but it must be untrue, because she pouts and pulls me into a hug.

Jo: Shit, Cas, I promise, it'll be okay. You look fantastic. You are fantastic. It will be okay.  
Me: I'm tired.  
Jo: I know. I promise we'll help. We will do everything we can. It will be okay.

She puts her arm around my waist and leads me somewhere, and I'm not looking anywhere but at my own feet. I notice the door opening, and then there's Dean's voice.

Dean: Woah, damn.  
Jo: What?  
Dean: I like the hair. Kinda hot.  
Me: Thank you.

My voice sounds as if I haven't used it in weeks, but it's okay now, and if Dean likes my hair, then I can do anything and everything I need to. I take a deep breath.

Me and Jo: We need to talk.

We take a look at each other, surprised, and then chuckle, also simultaneously. Then Jo gets serious, while I get kind of confused.

Jo: Let's sit down.

So we do, and Dean looks at us like he hasn't got any idea what's happening, but then he looks serious, too, so he got the feeling it'll be difficult, as well. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, glancing at Jo, but she only raises her eyebrows, as if waiting for me to talk. I hang my head and stare at my knees.

Me: I'm. I'm Cas.  
Dean: Yeah, I know, and what?  
Me: I mean, no. I... I sometimes use a nickname. 'Casscade', with two 's'.

I hear him gasp, and I still dare not look up at him. Silence seems to hang itself between us violently and it feels heavy in the air. My eyes start watering when he finally speaks.

Dean: So, was that Cas a lie?  
Jo: Generally speaking, the Cas at school is a lie.

I throw her a thankful glance, because that sentence spared me a lot of stuttering and a hell of a lot confusion for both of us.

Dean: What do you mean?  
Jo: I feel like Cas should speak for himself.  
Me: I don't know...  
Dean: Himself?

My heart misses a beat; I didn't even notice. I stare at him, and he seems lost, but then he seems to catch on with what all that means. Jo smirks a little bit uncertainly, and I don't know if that's her way of covering anxiety or if she had said that on purpose; maybe both. Dean squints and looks at me with curiosity.

Dean: Cas, are you actually a guy?  
Me: Not biologically spea-  
Dean: So you are. Okay.  
Me: What?  
Jo: I think he said he's okay with that.  
Dean: Yeah, I am.  
Me: Aren't you like, at least a bit, you know, angry?  
Dean: Why would I?  
Me: I think I kind of lied to you. For months.  
Dean: Everybody would do that.  
Me: Would they?  
Dean: Yeah.

He smiles and it really does seem it's okay between us, but then he stills again, a spark of anxiety in his green eyes.

Dean: Oh god, sorry for talking to you about, you know, the other you.  
Me: Dean, it's okay.  
Dean: Is it? I won't bother you, dude. I didn't know, okay. Sorry.  
Me: I came here to explain things to you, and apologize, and we end up with you apologizing for things you weren't aware you were doing. How is that logical?  
Jo: Life isn't logical, Cas. I think you should have caught that the moment you realized you're a dude.  
Me: Thanks, Jo.

We chuckle, and it is a little bit awkward, but it feels much lighter; I would never have thought it would go like that, let alone be so... not unpleasant. But something is still hanging in there, and I don't know what it is. 

Dean: Cas?  
Me: Yeah?  
Dean: Just correct me if I ever call you a 'she' outside of school. It's not that easy to switch every time.  
Jo: Yeah, me too. But I shouldn't have a problem with it, I think.  
Me: Thank you both.

He and Jo smile, and Jo leaves to get some food from the kitchen. I and Dean are left in a silence that's more companionable than awkward now. There seems to be a lot of unspoken questions, but at the same time it's like the shortest coming out talk ever cut open a knot and let everything loose, giving me the long awaited relief, even if there was a lot of obstacles ahead.

Dean: I guess, um. The thing with the crush.  
Me: Yes?  
Dean: I'm going to have to, uh, like erase that girl-Cas out of my mind. I kind of... was far gone.

I don't reply, just glance at him shortly and turn away to continue staring at my knees. This and sighing – always the best way to avoid confrontation, is it with thoughts or people. Soon enough, Jo comes in with sandwiches. 

Jo: Mom made these before she left with Bobby. You know, for _business_. Sure.  
Dean: Did you check on Sammy?  
Jo: Yeah, dead asleep. I don't know what the kids do in school that they're so tired all the time, I wasn't that tired ever after school.  
Me: Well, I am tired.  
Jo: You don't count in this, you grumpy sad fucker.  
Me: Well thanks Jo.  
Jo: Speaking of which, we need a plan.  
Me: What plan?  
Jo: Cas, you're so oblivious. We're gonna make some of your nice pretty dreams come true. That's what friends are for.  
Me: What do you want to do, Jo? You know my da-  
Jo: Just shut up, your father won't know anything about this. Well, for now.  
Dean: What are you thinking, Jo? Is that the same thing _I_ have been thinking?  
Jo: Bet you even know what your first mission is.  
Dean: Clothes?  
Jo: Clothes.

 

We end up in a large mall the following Saturday, and it's way too crowded for my tastes, but had I denied the choice, Jo and Dean would have killed me. Jo didn't come, but Dean seems to take pleasure in watching me suffer. He whistles when I tell him I have a bank account with over a thousand dollars saved up; it's meant to be lunch money and some other stuff, but I never really eat out or buy new clothes. If I do, I buy the cheapest, because I'm not going to have what I want anyway.  
And that's another thing I don't get about my father: he never lets me do anything, but gives me a free hand for my own bank account with a hundred dollars received every one or two months, doesn't restrict the Internet for me, and doesn't even bother if I skip classes – which I do all the time. He just signs all the papers I bring for him to not have me drop out, and sighs with disappointment. That sighing is exactly what I inherited, on a much larger scale.  
It was bad when he saw my hair, but he didn't say anything. At all. For three days. And his first words were 'you're gonna need to do something to make that look more girly.' Could have been worse, and now I wonder why I had never let myself rebel this tiny little bit for six years.  
Dean and I stop by a big shop with some pretty hipster clothes, because Dean insists I'd look great in them and because they just happen to have small sizes. Which is not _that_ small, because I'm fairly sure I'm taller than 5'7”. Somewhere between that and six feet, which I'm sure I haven't reached – but I caught this miraculous rare thing that occurs in my family more often than not, and I'm still growing. Doesn't look like I'm going to outgrow Dean, but sure I'm not small and not going to be. He insists I am very thin, though, so we look through slim fit jeans – and half an hour later, we walk out of the shop, Dean looking extremely proud, and me – caring a bag with two pairs of jeans and poorer by a hundred dollars, which is not that bad.  
Dean says I need plaid shirts, because otherwise I shouldn't come near him, and that doesn't seem like a very 'hipster' thing to wear, but I don't argue with him; there is no point in saying anything, actually, as he does all the talking. I am only to choose, pay and wear. CPW.  
And so we find them, and it seems like Dean knows all the shops and their inventories by heart. I spend six hundred dollars in four hours, and that's uncomfortable, but I feel better – seems like a boy's wardrobe, underwear included, was what I unconsciously needed. I say thank you a hundred times before Dean tells me to shut up, so I smile and let it go.  
We make up a plan with Jo that I'm only going to sneak one or two bigger pieces to my house at once so I don't look suspicious with a bag full of new clothes, and hide them somewhere in my room; father doesn't look for things anyway. The next part is that I am to slowly incorporate them one by one to what I wear every day, and if father notices and gives me hell, then I can just live at Bobby's. Maybe he doesn't though, and that's what we're hoping for.  
It all seems optimistic to me, and then weeks pass, and Jo and Dean still support me, and nothing really changes outside of that I get to hate myself a little less each time they use the pronouns I've associated myself with for years. And each time I put on boxers, which I discovered are the most damn comfortable things in the whole universe, and their soft fabric sticking out a little above my belt and protecting my hips from getting burns from the material is plainly _paradise_.   
Then it's suddenly May and I wear an all male clothes outfit for the first time, and my jaw is shaven, and I check myself out in the mirror. I don't pass as a man, but I certainly pass as someone not easily labeled. I guess if I saw myself on the street I'd have to look twice to see exactly what kind of a thing might be in my pants (which is quite ridiculous, by the way. People don't walk around with their genitals out, but you look at their faces and unconsciously assume what's down there.) My father's not home and I am meant to spend the afternoon out with Dean and Jo – which, by the way, wow, sociable – and it seems perfect.  
We pass some people on the streets and I see some turning heads, and I have no idea why, but Jo or Dean would tell me if I looked awful or weird – they have, countless times – so it can't be anything bad. I relax. It feels safe.   
Safe, until we sit on the chairs belonging to the café we ordered out desserts in, sun shining at us, and I look at Dean, and it seems like gold has found its way to his irises and lashes, because they look like they are actually sparking. Then like in a poor quality Hollywood movie, he turns and looks me in the eye and grins, actually grins, and he's beautiful, and it hits me how bad I've got it for him. And suddenly, it's not that safe anymore. But I don't do anything but shiver.  
Well, I don't think not sleeping counts as doing something, at least.

Graduation approaches slowly and Dean, Jo and Anna are all set out to go to college to University of Tulsa – they're going to rent apartments in there, as Anna got a full ride and Dean and Jo got pretty good scholarships in there, too, so money doesn't seem to be much of a problem; unless they don't find part-time jobs to support themselves in there. Anna and Jo chose classics, which doesn't surprise me, but what does is that Dean chose mechanical engineering – I knew him as a car-loving guy, but not really an engineer type; I'd expect he'd choose classics as well and work as a mechanic as a part-time thing, but there he goes out to be a full on specialist in engineering and the likes. I begin to run away from them a little, and it's not until Jo calls me to visit her as soon as I can that I realize I'm sulking. When I arrive to her house, sweaty from the heat, she looks at me in this particular way that says 'the hell are you doing?' and I can't keep eye contact with her.

Jo: Come inside, will you?  
Me: I still don't get it why you invited me.  
Jo: It's freaking May, you are sulking, and I'm alone in the house. We need to talk.  
Me: What do you want to talk about?

She throws me a meaningful glance and steps back, so I come inside. I have realized weeks ago when they got their acceptance letters that they are going to leave me here with my father's disapproving looks until I get a job in whatever place I can. Then father will be disappointed in me, because I am sure he didn't consider the fact that I would need higher education to be a Bible scholar or whatever the hell he wants me to do in life. We never really talk about it.

Jo: You know we're moving in August, right?  
Me: Yes Jo, I am aware.  
Jo: You know you're moving with us, right?  
Me: What?  
Jo: Yes, you are.  
Me: Sorry Jo, no way. I don't have any money outside of a hundred dollars' worth of pocket money each month, my father won't let me go, and if I do run away he'll take everything away from me.  
Jo: You will come out and Michael will help you.  
Me: Michael lives in Kansas City.  
Jo: Yes, and we will give you a ride, you will ask him for help, and he will agree.  
Me: I doubt it, Jo.  
Jo: Cas, he fucking asked your dad if you could move in with him. He's your brother.  
Me: That's flawed logic, Jo. If my father knows, Michael will know too, dad will ensure of that. And Michael isn't as accepting as you think.  
Jo: How about we try first? Cas, if he doesn't help you, we will. You'll live with Dean or me and Anna and we'll buy an additional bed and help you find a job in Tulsa and whatever you will need.  
Me: I can't be such a burden.  
Jo: You can.

I sigh and she grins at me, so I crack a half-smile at her too, and maybe it'll buy me some time, but I decide I am still not coming out to my father or Michael, whatever she says. I haven't even worn a full-male outfit near my dad, and he doesn't talk to me when I wear visibly male _whatever_ , and my hair has grown back – so it sure will not be easy. Michael has asked me if I am a lesbian with a serious face, if not a little bit disgusted. I denied. I'm a gay boy, and it's Jo who convinced me to finally call myself by the label that fits me like it was made especially for me; well, it was, for people similar in identity and preferences. She said I couldn't live my whole life being 'not-a-girl' who 'happens to like men'. Unless I didn't identify as male, of course.  
She lets me go after making me tea and talking about everyday things, abandoning college and coming out topics completely, and I'm not as sad as usual when I leave. It seems like she knows that even though my mind feels lighter when I try to admit to myself about what I've been feeling and thinking, it doesn't make my life easier – just the opposite. And so, we chat regularly, she calls me every day when we don't meet in school, and Dean cares about me in just a similar way, not flirting with me anymore. He got over that stage, he tells me, and I pretend not to feel a little bit sad. Even if he crushed on the girl, not the boy.  
When I come home, I make sandwiches, take them upstairs with me, eat them while staring at the computer screen, and five minutes later I put my fingers down my throat. All of that because my jeans don't fit anymore, and I am so, so hungry. I make a mental note not to let Jo give me so much food whenever I visit her, or threaten to stop visiting her at all.  
Which I actually don't need to do, because she and Dean and Anna (who I haven't even come out to, yet) are moving away very soon and will stop pushing me to do anything.  
Especially pushing me to live.


	10. New order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things need to be messed up to create new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I am sorry for the huge-ass amount of time each chapter takes. This one isn't longer than the others, but I hope it makes you forgive me.  
> Second thing is, please don't expect me to be quicker. I get random sparks of inspiration, lately much more seldom that the school has come, but I've signed up for a DeanCas Big Bang, and I have three ideas, and no idea what to do. So the inspiration will have to be redirected from this thing, to the DCBB.  
> Example one: in four months I wrote half of this chapter, 1.5k words, in random spurs of sentences. The rest I wrote just a minute ago.  
> Not beta'd. Sorry.

The next couple of days is spent avoiding Jo and Dean in school as much as I can and working on coming out to Anna. She had been my first friend; she introduced me to Dean, she told me all about his feelings for me, and she was a kind of a quiet, continuing support for me during the past months. And yet, she still doesn't know, though she seems to be the one to deserve it most. I might not want Jo and Dean's ways to change my life by force, but I do want the most faithful of my friends to know about me.  
Though I have not been talking to her a lot, I know she has been chatting with Balthazar pretty intensely – they're probably on the verge of dating right now and I could bet they will date when he comes here – and her full ride in the University of Tulsa might have something to do with his flippant charm she mentions on every opportunity possible. The girl has a way to get herself up in society, and maybe there's something in the flaming red hair of hers, or it's just her way of being, which is – extrovertic and energetic, yet very sincere and humble. Never playing someone better than the others. Never playing someone who knows everything, while others know nothing. And this is why I want her to know this small-but-big thing about me.  
It's Friday when I finally get to tell her, and it basically goes like this: I tell her I need to talk to her about something while sitting next to her in the art class; we're drawing hummingbirds. She invites me to her house. I visit her, and there's nobody else in there, and the high, bright walls and the big windows and the _home_ feeling I somehow get in this perfect house cause me to squeeze all the information needed in one breath. She hugs me, tells me it's okay and she'll try to understand, and that's about it; I am happy because I had known I could trust her. We eat some cake – and boy, is it a delicious cake, she asks questions, I go home, I puke, I go to sleep not doing any schoolwork.  
I'm barely passing, the thought of which makes me laugh; not passing as a man, barely passing in school. My grades dance on the edge of D to F, and I feel like the appropriate mark would be an E; it isn't even a bitter feeling, though. Father doesn't seem to care about that, either, which is a happy coincidence. Fathers like him tend to abuse their children when they're not good enough; he just doesn't care. Books are his drugs, the Bible is his vodka, and he sits and sits and sits in his small room all day when he's not at work. After all, who would care about a child like that? Not caring is avoiding confrontation and I feel as if I have inherited the exact same treat from him.  
It kind of slowly falls one step closer to hell when we're eating breakfast on Saturday, which, wow, breakfast.

Dad: What have you done with your hair?  
Me: I cut it. Weeks ago. You've already mentioned this.  
Dad: I don't think your mother would approve of it.  
Me: She let me do it whenever I wanted.  
Dad: Did Michael convince you to look like this?  
Me: What? I haven't even met Michael since months ago.

In fact I have been meeting Michael quite regularly, and I saw him just before that call he made to our father; but if I told father that, he would never believe it wasn't Michael who forced me to shop on the men's section. Michael seems to be a symbol of all devil in this house, and it's starting to become funny.

Dad: Then maybe those friends of yours? Who are they?  
Me: Father, I have bought these clothes myself.  
Dad: Please stop wearing them. And don't cut your hair again.

With that, he stands and goes to wash the plates in the sink silently, not looking at me. I take that as letting me go, and walk upstairs, my cup of tea in hand. Logging in to the chat seems refreshing. There's a new conversation up, and surprisingly, it's a group one.

BanJo: Hi everyone. Cas I heard u told Anna the stuff so shes here too  
Annael: hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii  
Dw67: the hell u need me 4, jo.  
BanJo: shhhhhh just wait for Cas. We'll talk colelge out.  
BanJo: *college  
Annael: So Cas agreed to go w us?

Well, this is my time to shine. I take a sip of my tea and quickly type in the chat window.

Casscade: NO I HAVEN'T  
Casscade: My. Father. Won't. Let. me.  
Casscade: And Michael won't support me.  
Dw67: ur my fav optimist cas  
Casscade: Shut up.  
BanJo: Woah woah calm down boys. The thing is we gotta convince cas to go with us :)  
Casscade: What, are you going to pull me out by hands and legs?  
BanJo: If we need 2  
Annael: Have u two considered not being so harsh on each other?  
Dw67: yeah I second that  
BanJo: literally everything I achieved with cas was by force lmfao  
Casscade: That is not true, Jo.  
BanJo: well MOST of it was. And u know that Cas.  
Dw67: You know what? Whatever  
Dw67: Cas do u want to go with us?

Oh Jesus Christ. They won't stop asking. And talking. Like I haven't explained everything a hundred times already.

Casscade: You know I can't! I told you 985 times  
Dw67: thats precise  
Dw67: nah but like, if there was no ur dad and u had money and stuff  
Casscade: Then i'd have applied for college and get a scholarship and do something with my life.  
Casscade: Instead of slacking and listening to my father and being a BURDEN to my friends.  
Annael: Told ya, no way is the harsh way.  
Annael: Cas, why don't u just get a job when we're there?  
Casscade: I can't even go.  
Annael: Come on Cas. Why does ur dads opinion matter so much  
Casscade: Anna, please don't ask me that.  
Annael: What if Balthazar happened to know a Michael Novak from Kansas City?  
Casscade: What?  
BanJo: WHAT?!?!  
Dw67: what  
Annael: annnnnnnnnd what if balthazar asked Michael what he thinks about 'that stuff'  
Annael: hmmmmm wouldnt that be curious??  
Casscade: I'll quote Dean: “You know what? Whatever.”  
Casscade: Do whatever you want. If Michael would accept me, I might possibly consider running the fuck out of here.  
BanJo: Look, the holy boy can swear  
Casscade: Shut up, Jo.

They let it go after a while, and it's a good thing because for the first time today, I can think. If I want to go with them then perhaps I want to finish school. I could drop out, because my father doesn't care, but it somehow seems important. And if I can't look at myself, I might as well look at my books, trying to learn at least a thing, so I say bye to the friends and close the chat.  
My plans are ruined by the phone ringing. Why would anyone ring me? Close to nobody has my phone number, and those who do know about my aversion to talking through electronic devices. It's unpleasant and my voice sounds bad. Yet, I pick up, not looking at the caller ID.

Me: Cas Novak, listening.  
Michael: Hi, Cas.  
Me: Hello. You haven't called me since your talk with father.  
Michael: Oh, so you know that? Sorry.  
Me: What did you want?  
Michael: Cassie, nice as always. I thought I'd ask you to do something do make dad kick you out. I'd take you in then.  
Me: Well, there is a possibility he will, actually, kick me out.  
Michael: What? You do drugs?  
Me: No, I want to go with my friends, who are going to college.  
Michael: Don't tell me you applied?  
Me: I didn't. But they want me to live with them and get a job, and perhaps a life, as well.  
Michael: Well isn't that fucking amazing. You could do that couldn't you?  
Me: Michael, there are things going on in my life I can't tell you about, not yet. I will tell you when the time comes. I want to be safe in this house, for now. I will think and you will think things through, then we can decide something.  
Michael: Woah, you scare me. Everything okay?  
Me: No, but I have support of my friends.

We chat for a while more, about things more or less important; Michael tells me about his girlfriend, and I tell him about my grades which are slowly descending into the big, dark fail. Then we say our goodbyes and see yous, and hang up. The more normal my life gets, the weirder it actually seems. The fact that he haven't even asked what _exactly_ those things in my life are? Surprising. My brother just isn't the type to just leave things alone.

Sunday is perhaps just as weird as Saturday. Or would be, if not for the fact that there isn't anyone bothering me. At all. That makes it way less weird, but-  
Wait, no. Cancel that. The fact that nobody is bothering me actually makes this day the weirdest in the past weeks. Funny how my life has turned around. I wouldn't have thought that, all those months back.  
What probably makes this Sunday the strangest day in existence is the occurrence which happens very rarely, if at all: I go out for a walk. By myself. With no purpose whatsoever. I haven't left my house when there was no other place to go to for years. I am just not the type of person to go on walks, perhaps, and maybe it was all of my issues and obsessions that have been holding me in place. In my room, to be exact.  
The fresh air feels odd on my face, like it wants to be my friend, and not a judge of my current physical and emotional state. But, as previously stated, this is the strangest day ever.  
I walk out onto the meadow and follow the light brown path, ideal for running or walking your dog, into a place which could easily be called a different world. I had gone there often with Mom before she passed, and one would expect the place has changed – it's in close proximity to the houses and the road, something should have been built in here already – yet it hasn't, at all. It is still tall grass which at its lowest reaches my knee and at its highest up to my shoulders. It is still the slightly shifted atmosphere of loneliness, sometimes cut sharp by a runner or a casual passer-by; but it's not disturbed. When someone else enters this path, I'm alone with them. They're not a stranger, by then. They're something else.  
The sky is the brightest possible blue when I step off the dirt path and enter a smaller one, which is a dead-end and mine and my Mother's hiding place. Memories flow back to me when I look up, and I am calm. Well, at least for a while. Because then I hear the grass moving under someone's shoes, and I search for the stranger in alarm, ready to be robbed – which is not really reasonable, considering I'm currently in one of the safest places in town – but then the day proves to be the odd kid of the nerds of the alienated group of the unpopular kids, because there approaches me Dean Winchester, face surprised.

Dean: Oh my God, Cas, what are you doing here.  
Me: I. Dean, I could ask you the same thing.  
Dean: I always walk here, like, to relax. Stuff. I dunno. You?  
Me: It used to be mine and my mom's special place when I was a child. Actually. I'm here for the first time in years.  
Dean: Woah. That's some coincidence.

He grins at me and sits down, about a foot between us. His irises are the exact color of the grass, and I'm quite overwhelmed, so it's the perfect time to stop staring. My eyes return to the bright blue up above us, and in the corner of my eye I see Dean looking the same way. The silence isn't excruciating, like it should be; it's actually quite relaxing.

Dean: Cas, can I ask you something?  
Me: Yes?  
Dean: I, just. How are you doing?

Getting ready for a difficult, way too personal question I didn't expect that one. It is light and unassuming, but still somehow hangs heavy above my head, waiting for my answer.

Me: I have no idea.  
Dean: What d'ya mean?  
Me: There is so much going on. Please don't make me answer such general questions.  
Dean: Okay. You talked to Michael?  
Me: Yes. He called me. Wanted me to get kicked out of the house, so he could take me in.  
Dean: Woah, to the point. So what are you gonna do?  
Me: Wait until Anna makes her intricate plan come true and have Balthazar ask Michael some things. Like we said on the chat.  
Dean: Yeah, about that. The chat, I mean.  
Me: What about it?  
Dean: I- I wanted to apologize. For the rants, and all that stuff. Must have made you feel uncomfortable. Bad. And all.  
Me: It's okay. I lied first.  
Dean: Yeah. Yeah, but all the things I told you, and you told me nothing. I wasn't a good friend, to the chat-Cas or to the real-Cas. Damn, I fucking kissed you. Without asking. Shouldn't have done that. It's rape-y.  
Me: It is. But things happen. And you weren't violent.  
Dean: What do you mean?  
Me: I felt confused. Not hurt. If you were violent, I'd feel hurt. Well, maybe I was scared, but I don't think I felt harassed. That's important. I pushed you away, and you let me.  
Dean: Still not right. Should have asked you first.  
Me: Maybe.

I'm certainly not in the mood for this, when the only thing I was seeking today was peace, and instead I get Dean talking about his feelings. I should be annoyed with him, but I'm not. The only thing I'm feeling is a mild disappointment about his choice of topic.  
But he seems to smell it, and that's perhaps why I developed this ridiculous crush on him. He slides a little closer, but not too close, so that our knees are almost touching. A bee passes between our heads, and while I follow it with my eyes, I notice Dean staring at me, his face kind of sad.

Dean: I thought. If you're a guy, I thought it changed everything. It did, for a while, you know?  
Me: What are you talking about?  
Dean: I don't even know. We'd been friends on the chat, and Jo made us meet, and all, and I don't know.  
Me: Do you mean you don't want to be friends?

My tone is getting wary as I almost start shuffling away from him. But if he despised me or felt he needed to end our acquaintance, he wouldn't do it in such circumstances, right? Dean needs to be schooled on mixed signals.  
But maybe he doesn't, maybe I should learn to read people well, because his next words aren't a goodbye at all.

Dean: Nah, I just still have a big ass crush on you.

My heart stops for a moment, and everything else seems to stop, as well. But Cas Novak is the master of conversation. Of all awkward talks in particular. And in the modern language used by youth.

Me: Pardon?

Dean kind of just laughs at that, rolling a little bit to the side and getting up. He brushes grass and dirt off his jeans, and looks at me in an odd way.

Dean: Girl or guy or anything else, you're pretty damn amazing, you know. But that doesn't mean I'm gonna try to kiss you any time soon. Actually, I gotta be going. See ya, Cas.  
Me: Dean-

I struggle to get up, and I must be the clumsiest person ever because obviously, _obviously_ , we end up face to face, noses almost touching. Like in the romantic comedies Mother loved. I watched them with her, because I liked seeing her smile at the fairytale-like stories she never got.  
But this is not a fairy tale, and certainly not a romantic comedy, so he holds me up by my bicep, just slightly stroking it with his thumb, and I am so confused that he vanishes behind the tall grass before I manage to catch up with the situation. Not the most intelligent and very, very slow, that I am.  
So I take a deep breath and, for once, I run. When things and people left, I have always stayed behind, but a (probably stoned) part of my brain decides: not this time. Leg after leg, breathing hard with the rare effort, I run, and I find Dean turning around when he hears my steps, and I probably look like an idiot, and Dean probably looks like an idiot as well, but nobody seems to care.

Me: I apologize, Dean. I pushed you away because you didn't know. I pushed you away because I didn't, okay, whatever, I pushed you away because I'm just not me. I'm sorry. Don't walk away on me until the conversation is finished. Like, it should be prohibited under carnal punishment, or something. And don't go blaming yourself because you know, you know that you weren't--

I don't get to finish, because Dean's mouth is on mine. And this time, it's perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm posting this I realized, tomorrow is the one year anniversary of the first chapter! I don't know whether I should celebrate or cry over how slow I am.  
> Anyway, please comment. I'll get you imaginary puppies.


	11. Twisting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that's me. A chapter in four months and the next one in two days.  
> The good news is, I will be finished with this work very soon.  
> Another good news is that instead of getting it all smoothly finished here and getting an epilogue in the 12th chapter, you will only get the action. Yes, the twelfth chapter is the last one, as the count on the top indicates. BUT there will be timestamps. As you see, this has been set as a part of a series. So, after it's all finished, check for the updates. If you want, that is.  
> There is no bad news.  
> Enjoy! And, well, sorry.

As quickly as it started, it ends, and our faces must look amazing in the mixture of surprise, shock, cheerfulness, and whatever can be added to the mix until it explodes. 

Dean: Damn, your lips are soft.  
Me: Yours are not as chapped, though.  
Dean: Yeah, but I can't kiss myself.

The tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife and sell slices on eBay, and there is a lot of awkwardness, because we just had a moment from one of the cheesiest romances ever and we both seem not to know how to carry on. It seems like a stop point; it's the moment where the camera goes off and jumps to show the audience how the two characters live long and are happy. But then the line gets crossed and you get the rom-com kiss in your own very real life and well, what do you do then? 

Me: Dean, I shouldn't.  
Dean: I know. There's like, a pile of crap between us.  
Me: Yes. And in my mind. And everywhere. Crap.  
Dean: And you went and kissed me?  
Me: I think you did.  
Dean: No idea, dude. Anyway. Are we doing this?

And that is a question we really should consider, instead of going out and kissing like, well, the teenagers we are. For teenagers everything should be sweet and easy, and a heartbreak should be the most of our problems. Unfortunately, it's not.

Me: Can it wait?  
Dean: You wanna sort shit out?  
Me: Yes.  
Dean: Yeah. It can wait.  
Me: Okay.

The tension dissolves, just like that. Seriously, I could wax poetry about Dean's freckles (which I probably will in the future) and about his mouth (also will do), and perhaps about his eyes also (there's a lot to say here), but for now, I just stare at him and smile, our faces at a non-kissing distance, and I know he doesn't see a girl in me. Straight, right? But he's said what he feels. So I know.

Dean: I really gotta go.  
Me: Yes, I should, as well.  
Dean: You're awesome.  
Me: You too, Dean. See you.

We each walk our separate ways, not looking back, but this seems like a beginning, not a goodbye.

***

Anna actually does what she's promised, and by Tuesday I have a full report on Balthazar's Completely Casual, Completely Random meeting with Michael. Apparently they're friends, though Michael hasn't mentioned him, but then again, Michael doesn't really mention anyone besides his girlfriend. Anna tells me Balthazar visited the bar Michael likes, and started the philosophical way: talking about the belief that the soul is more important than the body, which, apparently, he was actually told by a Muslim neighbor. 

Annael: and he like, totally referenced some arab laws, you know  
Annael: they cant be gay there but can get sex reassignment provided by healthcare  
Annael: and he started lecturing michael about the laws of the east??? which is like wtf  
Casscade: That's quite original. What did Michael say?  
Annael: ummm balthy told me mike couldn't quite grasp why anyone would want to do such things  
Annael: and b lectured him again on how trans people want to be accepted and told him to imagine he wakes up with a different body and other stuff I dunno even  
Annael: anyway the point is, michael was like, this must be a bad thing to have, and didnt say anything. So ya know lil friend, I think the roads clear for u  
Casscade: That is, actually, very surprising.  
Casscade: Thank you, Anna. I think I will be trying to set up a meeting with him before the graduation. He's been busy lately, and doesn't really have time to leave the city.  
Annael: yeah tell me about that. Graduations approaching and im totally lost  
Annael: anyway, im gonna be skyping with Balthazar now so see ya Cas. U gonna be in school?  
Casscade: Perhaps, yes. If I don't attend, I'll fail math, so it's better that I make up for my absences.  
Annael: ok. Good luck with math!!! bye

In this moment, I'm very thankful for having Anna in my life, and also for Anna having Balthazar in her life. It was just a small favor for them, but for me, it's the beginning of a plan. Something big.  
But first, I actually have to plan it.  
The first thought is to call Dean, but I put it away, because hey, we've kissed two days ago, don't want to get too clingy now. The space to breathe is important. There is stuff that I need to solve and sort out. Of big importance, much bigger than some teenage romance dream. So I call Jo.

Jo: Yup?  
Me: Hello, Jo. Anna messaged me. Michael's okay. Should be, at least.  
Jo: Oh God, Cas. So you gonna be living with us after summer?  
Me: Shh, I can't tell anything yet. I have to plan. Carefully.  
Jo: Plan your own kicking out. Jesus, Cas, you have a cool life.  
Me: Yes, Jo, I know. First I need to talk to Michael, but you know how I am at talking.  
Jo: Want me to help?  
Me: No. I need to do it myself. Second, I will need all information about the apartment you'll be renting and about your schedules. The day you leave, and everything.  
Jo: What do ya need it for?  
Me: It's not anything strategic. I need to be sure. To know how much time I have and what jobs I can consider in that area.  
Jo: Okay then, Cas. I'll send you the things. Bye?  
Me: See you.

So talking to Michael it is, then. I take a deep breath and toy with the phone in my hand, and then I dial my brother's number.

Me: Michael, please visit me over the next couple of weeks.

***

Michael agrees to meet on the next Sunday, and though I wait for a break to happen before that, it doesn't. The days before I see him are uneventful, so I end up stressing out on the previous day.  
To avoid people, we go for a drive, and there it is: in the small talk we make he senses my need to tell him a thing or two. Well, at least I think so, because he hints at it, subtly urging me towards approaching the actual topic.

Me: Michael, I want to tell you something.  
Michael: Yeah, I figured.  
Me: You know how I don't want to be called with my full given name?  
Michael: Yeah. Father never respects it.  
Me: He's actually starting to, recently.  
Michael: Wow. And, further?  
Me: I. I've recently started coming true with myself. I cut my hair. I bought new clothes.  
Michael: Holy shit! Cas, I know, I know. This is the spiritual crap Balthazar told me.

Well, as far as I know it's more of a body thing than a spirit thing, I refrain from saying. Because I don't know anything about Balthazar's mission. Nothing. At all. So I patiently wait for Michael to continue.

Michael: Like, that your body is a girl and your soul is a boy? He told me that. And about Muslims, and other things, and I was like, woah, those jokes about dudes dressing up as ladies were kinda rude if they were really ladies. I thought that was perverts. Nobody ever told me.

That seems to be quite a lecture. Michael has always been a simple guy, so seeing him go all understanding and philosophical is a kind of an out of character experience. But apparently, some people do actually want to be educated and do take that education seriously.

Me: Yes.  
Michael: Well, wow, that is a lot of crap. Sorry the upper guy or mother nature or something did you bad. Or maybe it was our parents. Sorry.  
Me: Do you still want me to live with you?  
Michael: I suppose living with a little brother is less awkward than a little sister.  
Me: Michael, I'm a year younger than you.  
Michael: You're still a kid.

He grins at me, and I feel like everything suddenly is okay. Like I have a family, not only adoptive, but also by blood. That's a lot to take in, and I breathe in tensely. The silence is uncomfortable, until Michael breaks it.

Michael: That's like the perfect reason to get kicked out, though.  
Me: Yes, that's what I thought, too. But I was scared you wouldn't help me if I told you.  
Michael: Hell no. You're my little brother now. So what, you gonna bring girls home?  
Me: Actually, no.  
Michael: Um, boys?  
Me: Yes.  
Michael: Uh, okay, I guess. As long as you're happy, I mean. A boy breaks your heart, and I'll make you convert to straight.  
Me: Michael, that is an invalid argument. Girls can break my heart as well. Were I to like them, of course.  
Michael: I guess that's right. I'm not, like, into the gay ally thing, but yeah, I gotta deal with you being like that. Just... use protection. The usual stuff. Don't want you getting... you know.

I roll my eyes and laugh. This whole talk is surreal, just as the one with Dean had been, and it feels like my life has actually moved into a fairy tale setting. Maybe, just maybe, I will be able to make it. Maybe there's a point to live, even if only for a later death. Maybe there's _hope_ , and it has been as foreign to me as Chinese to the average non-Asian American.  
On the other hand, maybe I could have told Michael a long, long time ago. Not asking Balthazar, not prolonging my imprisonment in my Father's house. I couldn't have been sure, though.  
Michael drives us to a restaurant and buys us dinner. I eat it whole and keep it down, though my stomach protests. I did go a little bit too far in abusing it.  
And though I don't eat anything else until a day later, after school, there is not as much hatred that my brain directs at the rest of me that night as it has always been.

***

Time passes quickly when there is almost nothing to settle, and though Dean sometimes looks at me weird, it takes me shaking my head slightly to tell him that no, not yet. And that's the way it is; then, the graduation day rolls in, and I'm in my usual school attire with some added elegance. Father tells me I look wonderful, and it's weird of him. The collar presses in on my neck and the skirt seems ill-fitting; apparently eating less _and_ throwing up less is way more sufficient in losing weight.  
I have talked everything through with Michael, to the point when we both were fed up with the topic. He gave me freedom about trying to get healthy or not until I live with our father, but as soon as I move out and Michael takes me in, I am to start therapy. It overwhelms me how caring my brother is, but since that first talk in the car I decided to accept it as it is. After all, it doesn't just happen to everyone.  
He does attend my graduation, and I notice him glaring at our father from time to time, but father either doesn't see him, or pretends so well. I decide not to dwell on it for too long, instead focusing on the satisfaction coming from the fact that I passed math. And with a C, most importantly.  
Before we get our diplomas, we stand side by side: the high school friends group, because apparently I've managed to acquire one, and my brother, dad being a couple of rows in front of us. Dean is the closest one to the right to me, Jo standing on his other side, and Anna on my left. Michael stands next to Anna, smiling at her awkwardly. They used to know each other, and I don't think they parted on good terms.  
Waiting for our names to be called, I feel a light touch on the back of my hand. Looking down, I notice it's Dean's fingers, and apparently he wants to hold my hand. I catch him staring at me, and stare back. What seems reasonable is to shake my head, to say no, to pull my hand away – but I am not reasonable. I let him take it, and our fingers intertwine. I smile.  
Harvelle, Joanna Beth gets called first, and then another couple of seniors, and the next one in line is Anna. I turn to her to congratulate, and then mine and Michael's eyes lock. He looks down at where mine and Dean's hands are connected, then back at me, and the corners of his lips rise up. I grin at him, and while doing so I remember I haven't really grinned for years.  
Obviously, Novak, Cassandra is the name that is called next, and my face falls. My stomach starts to twist, but then Dean squeezes my hand and suddenly, it's okay.  
I throw him one last look, let go of his hand and approach the stage. The rest becomes a blur, and only after I blink at Anna, once again among my friends, do I realize that I did it all automatically. I can only hope I didn't make an idiot of myself. But there are no weird stares and everyone whom I talked to congratulates me, so perhaps it was all okay.  
Dean is called somewhere near the end; before and after him, there are various people I know crossing the stage, but I don't pay attention. He holds on to my hand like he never wants to let go; but he will need to let go, and quite soon.

***

We do not organize a party. Instead, Anna, Jo and Dean hug me up to the point of almost cracking my ribs and whisper 'good luck', and Michael nods to me, confirming: his car with the things I silently packed and put there two nights ago will be waiting for me a block away. I smile at him shakily and give him a thumbs-up. I mouth 'half an hour' to him, and he nods again. After all, there is not much that can happen.  
And oh am I wrong. People do change, even if suddenly and unexpectedly.  
When I and my father get to the house and take off our shoes, he tells me to go to his work room. Which means the place he reads the bibles and all the other religious stuff. Which means the place I've only ever visited briefly, and never really came in.  
I only wait for a short time, leaning on the desk. He comes in, his face dark like a storm cloud, his eyebrows drawn tightly together.

Dad: Cassandra, what was that?  
Me: What was what?  
Dad: Michael and you. You talked. You gave him a thumbs-up. Are you plotting something?

And wow, he noticed. That's not usual with him, as he's the least observant person I know. But apparently he's even over-observant when it comes to my contacts with Michael. I should have known that. But it's still okay. 

Me: We are not plotting anything, but he did wish me good luck.  
Dad: And what is that you need good luck for?  
Me: Telling you.  
Dad: Do not make an idiot out of me. Get to the point. Telling me what?  
Me: I am a boy. I'm not your daughter. I am your son.

Well, that wasn't as difficult to say as I have thought. In fact, it went quite smooth, rolling automatically off my tongue. The silence in itself, though, is deafening, and father approaches me, his face even darker – if it's even possible.

Dad: What did you say?  
Me: I am a boy. I was born wrong. Kind of.  
Dad: Your mother would never approve of such blasphemy.  
Me: She did, actually.

I don't expect the sharp pain of a slap on my cheek that comes next. Even kicking out Michael, my father never expressed any need for physical violence. He has always been quiet and collected. Always passive-aggressive. Always seemingly unfocused.

Dad: This is too much. Do not. Speak. Of your mother. Like. That.  
Me: It's you who always lies about her!  
Dad: It's not. You stain her memory. You are an abomination. You should not live at all.

And that is kind of what it takes. I run out, stumbling on the way and I feel tears welling up in my eyes, but I won't give up. I just have to get to Michael.  
But I don't. The front door appears to be locked. Father knew this was going to happen. I turn around and see him right in front of me.

Dad: I knew I couldn't trust you. Michael made you like this. Made you foul.  
Me: I was always like this, father.  
Dad: And the friends! Winchester and Harvelle and this Milton girl. They made you do this, right?  
Me: No, they did not.  
Dad: You will not come out of this house again without my knowledge.  
Me: I will actually walk out right now.  
Dad: The door is locked.  
Me: I will break it if I need to do so. You cannot keep me in.  
Dad: No? How about this?

And he puts his hand on my throat. I must really have lost a lot of weight, because he pushes me up against the door and lifts me effortlessly. And he is, actually, two inches shorter.  
I can't breathe and it hurts, it feels like my body wants to fall off of my head. The image it presents in my brain would be funny, were it not for the fact that I'm being choked.  
So much for surreally well; it has now gone the other way. I'm prepared to go limp.  
Someone tries to open the door and when they can't, they pump their fist into it. Michael.

Michael: Cas, you there?

I can't speak. There's no air in my lungs to support me and there's no way I can move my jaw.

Dad: Your sister is pinned by her neck on this very door, so I suggest you don't break it in.

Oh dad, aren't you stupid. I hear a 'fuck' muttered on the other side, and I see my father looking at me, madness in his eyes. This man has really gone sick. Perhaps in his loneliness, the anger was just waiting to become unleashed.  
That's one of my last thoughts before everything fades into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Mirène](http://imwhispering.tumblr.com) drew a thing for this chapter, and it's the cutest ever.  
> 


	12. Up till we meet the clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's blushing, which is a rare occurrence, and just to make him blush more, I put my hand on his where it lies on the table; I succeed. He does this smile reserved for when he's shy, and I might or might not be a little bit in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the end. Whooooooh. I can't really believe it.  
> Huge thanks to Cynthia, Mirène, Phiaa, Philo, and everyone who has read this and gave me their feedback and support. You're amazing.  
> If you get where the last paragraph came from, I'll give you a cookie. An imaginary one, but still.  
> Also, there will be timestamps for this; currently though I'm doing a Big Bang and writing commissions (you can read about them [here](http://krushnic.tk/post/87293604324/alex-saves-up-for-transition-writing-commissions)).  
> I love you all. Enjoy!

I open my eyes and breathe in. It's refreshing to feel no pressure on my throat.

Michael: Shit, Cas, you're back.  
Me: Generally, I am.

My voice sounds like it hasn't been used in a couple of years. I blink and look around. 

Me: Did you carry me to your car?  
Michael: Yup. You're light as a feather, Cas.  
Me: Do you plan to work on it being otherwise?

He smiles and proceeds to tell me how he's been worried, how he's planned to call the ambulance but ended up only calling police, how they took dad.

Michael: He probably won't get anything but some short sentence, I mean who lives peacefully his whole life and then attempts to choke his kid? A mad guy. Might get sent to a mental hospital rather than prison.  
Me: At least he didn't succeed.  
Michael: Yeah. Good we agreed on a time limit.  
Me: How did you get there?  
Michael: I'm cool, I went in through the kitchen window. Not safe, leaving it open. But enough talking, you're awake, we gotta go. You're gonna sleep in my house today. Isn't that great, kid?

In this moment, all the love for my brother kind of gathers in my heart and starts singing, because what he does is so precious, and he is so good, it's like he took all that father didn't get. And to think I haven't expected that from anyone, when there are actually people out there who care. I literally feel my approach to life shift soundly in the middle of my brain.  
The drive takes a while, particularly because of the huge traffic, but it's okay. We sit in companionable silence, sometimes switching between the songs on Michael's iPod; I didn't even know he has such a great taste. It's a mix of upbeat classical music, mostly played on violins, and modern tunes which somehow fit very well. I think there was even a Celtic thing there, somewhere.  
Jo calls me just after I step into Michael's apartment.

Jo: Hi, Cas, you okay? Michael texted me that your dad tried to attack you?  
Me: Yes. He tried to choke me, but fortunately Michael was able to save me.

My brother turns and smiles at me from across the room, and I return that smile.

Jo: Oh my god. Jesus. Glad you're okay. I was so worried. What happened with the old asshole?  
Me: I think they took him for an interview. I was unconscious, Jo.   
Jo: Yeah, sorry, should have asked Mike about that. So what, now you gonna spend some time with your big brother and then we see each other in Tulsa?  
Me: Yes. That is the plan.  
Jo: Should we visit you?  
Me: If you need so. But I think I need some time alone, here.  
Jo: Okay then! Text me or Dean if you wanna meet up some time. And, Cas?  
Me: Yes, Jo?  
Jo: I was glad to see you two holding hands. Like, cute.  
Me: Thank you, Jo. See you.

She gives me a cheery 'bye' and hangs up, and I sigh.

Michael: Everything okay, little brother?  
Me: Yes. I just... I need to calm down.

Michael nods.

***

It's a month into our living arrangement that I call Dean. He offers to drive up to Michael's house with his Impala – the old car he inherited after his dad; seems like Bobby finally let him have it.  
We agree to meet up just under the apartment complex and go to the diner nearby, which sells amazing burgers. And by that, I mean _amazing_. I've never thought I'd be a fan of burgers, but turns out this is all I was meant to love.  
As I take the first bite, big and delicious, Dean smiles at me. I chew, staring at him, to the table, back to him, and after I'm finished, I ask why he's smiling.

Dean: It's nice to see you eating. Taking care of yourself. You needed that.

And damn, if that doesn't do it for me. I blush furiously, looking down. He only smiles wider, as if mocking me, but it's not unfriendly, just the opposite.

Dean: Well, how is it, living with your big bro? He bad?  
Me: Michael actually lets me do anything I find reasonable. He's only a year older.  
Dean: Yeah? Looks twenty-five. No offense to him.  
Me: I'm sure he wouldn't mind, considering he ran away right after his eighteenth birthday.   
Dean: What about his girlfriend? You mentioned she was named like your mom?  
Me: Yes, her name is Mary.  
Dean: Holy shit, that's just like my mom. Ain't that cool? So many Marys. Bet they're all awesome as hell.

He smiles warmly remembering his mother, and hey, that's something we could bond over. Long lost moms, both named Mary; and brothers, but I'm sure this topic would be something I'd rather agree on with Sam.

Dean: So.  
Me: So?  
Dean: So, you gonna rent an apartment with us? Cause we're thinking about staying in one until we find good jobs.  
Me: Won't that be crowded?  
Dean: Nah, Anna will probably be with Balthazar all the time anyway. I dunno if she won't even move in with him.  
Me: Perhaps I'll think about that.  
Dean: We need a three room one, then. Jo's looking into them, but she's found two room ones only, so far. You know, studio apartments and such.

I contemplate it for a while, staring at him – he stares back, eyebrows raised, and I smile.

Me: How about we take one room?  
Dean: Woah, you propositioning me?  
Me: I'm not. But I could use living in one room with someone.  
Dean: Double bed?  
Me: If you stay on your side.  
Dean: Deal.

He's blushing, which is a rare occurrence, and just to make him blush more, I put my hand on his where it lies on the table; I succeed. He does this smile reserved for when he's shy, and I might or might not be a little bit in love.  
Which is a pretty big break through, if you ask me. My heart skips a beat, because wow, I'm in love. I suppose I raise my eyebrows, because Dean seems concerned.

Dean: What're you thinking, Cas?  
Me: Nothing. It's just... I'm happy. About this.  
Dean: Can I kiss you again?  
Me: Yes.

So he leans in and kisses me, and it's chaste, until it isn't; his tongue prompts me to spread my lips, and suddenly we're almost making out; were it not for the table between us, we would be.  
When we part, I see a guy smiling at us. At this moment, I don't have a care in the world if he thinks we're straight.   
Dean pays for both of us before I manage to protest, and we end up in Michael's apartment.

Me: Michael's at work. He won't be back before six.  
Dean: Cas, why does everything you say sound like propositioning?  
Me: Because you have a dirty mind.

He laughs, loud and happy, and steps inside. And we make out; literally, for two hours, our position varying between sitting and lying on the couch, we make out like the eighteen year olds we are.

***

Michael: Hey, Cas, wake up.

My eyes shoot open. Damn, I fell asleep in Dean's arms. I sit up, but Dean remains asleep, not even wincing. My hair must be a mess, so I card my fingers through it.

Michael: Glad to see you finally called him. You two had a good time?  
Me: Don't be suggestive, Michael. We just... made out. Some.  
Michael: Good. He staying for dinner?  
Me: No idea. Ask him.

Speaking of the devil, that's when Dean awakes. He blinks and looks up at me, then at Michael and again at me; he smiles, then frowns at my brother. He's adorable, and I haven't ever thought I'd call a man adorable, but it's only true.

Dean: Uh, hi?  
Michael: Hello, Dean. You wanna eat with us?  
Dean: What're you having?  
Michael: Just take out today, I'm not a good cook, especially when there's no time.  
Dean: Hell yeah. Chinese or?  
Michael: French fries and burgers.  
Dean: Two burgers a day, that can't be healthy. Cas?  
Me: I'll pass on the burgers, but fries would be good. Thank you.

I don't know what to think about the looks they throw my way, but they're surely appreciative; in a month I've made such big steps on the way to recovery, I should probably be proud, but I'm not, not really. The additional pounds sit heavy on my chest, and I can feel every single one of them. Still, I struggle.   
Michael and Dean seem to get along well. Better than I and Dean did, in the beginning, but obviously it's purely friendly, so there's that. I don't participate much in the conversation they lead as we're eating, as it's mostly about cars and such; it's pleasurable, listening to them, and so I eat quietly, happy with the company.  
Dean stays the night; we sleep on my bed, which is big enough for us not to have to squeeze. His touches are tender, and his lips on my face and neck feel like heaven. It's not even sexual, it's like confessions, repeated over and over. He falls asleep with his head nuzzled in my neck, and I follow soon after, feeling as safe as I could be.

***

Dean: Well, you ready, Cas?

I look around me, check my bags, pat my pockets to check for the phone; it seems everything's where it should be. I nod, and throw a look at Michael. We might not see each other for a couple of weeks; staying here for almost two months I got so used to his presence, I already know I'm going to miss him. I nod again. Michael comes up to me and hugs me like I'm the most precious thing in the world for him. Which, surprisingly, I might be. The only family and all that. It hits me now how lonely he must have been right after running away, and I hug him with an almost rib-cracking force.

Michael: You behave well, little brother.  
Me: You too, not-so-big brother.

He rolls his eyes, mockingly, and turns to Dean; it looks weirdly like he's a father talking to his child's new spouse.

Michael: You take care of Cas, dude.  
Dean: I know, Mike. Attend his therapy, hold his hand and such. We talked about this. Five times, even.  
Michael: If you break his heart...  
Me: Oh Jesus fucking Christ.

They turn to stare at me, stunned.

Dean: Holy fuck, Cas, you swore?  
Me: Generally, yes.  
Dean: Damn, I could kiss you right now.  
Michael: Hey, big brother present. Mental image. Little brother and a friend. Not pleasant.  
Dean: Dude, you're literally sending him off to live with me. Like you didn't have the balls to, you know, with Mary.  
Michael: Not nice, Dean.

He grins, though, and even I can tell they're not really arguing. He gives me one last hug and shakes Dean's hand. Then, we're out in Dean's Impala, and I can't quite comprehend that this is happening.  
The wind caresses my face as I open the window of the car slightly, AC/DC blasting loud, Dean nodding and singing along shamelessly. He's beautiful, the sunlight making his eyelashes shine, and suddenly I remember that moment in spring when I first realized I might have a big, terrible crush on him. It's not even been half a year, but oh how far we've gone.

***

The apartment is nice. Very nice, actually. The hall is just big enough for two or three people to take off their shoes comfortably, and the doors go left to the tiny kitchen and right to the living room. There, behind the couch, are two doors, a small non-descriptive painting neatly placed between them; the obvious guess is that they lead to our bedrooms. The bathroom must be the third door, barely visible from the hall.  
All walls are painted with warm colors, mostly various shades of yellow and delicate brown. It creates a cozy feeling. I already like this place.

Dean: Come see our bedroom, pretty sure you'll like it.  
Me: What, does it have a huge painting of your face spread on the wall?  
Dean: Nah, but I'm glad you like my face so much.

He grins and takes my hand to lead me through the living room, between the couch and the coffee table, to the bedroom door on the left. As we enter, my breath hitches in my throat.  
The bed is huge. It has a number of pillows piled up near the headboard, all looking soft and oh so comfortable. The walls are covered in posters, varying from Dean's favorite bands to the shows I like. But the best thing is the bookshelf; it takes up half the wall and contains _hundreds_ of books, some obviously coming from my house, and how did Dean get those books? I don't hesitate to ask.

Dean: Michael and I went to your house when your dad was in custody – Mike still has the keys, and we took those you might like. Thought it'd make staying here even nicer for you. I took my books, Jo and Anna took theirs, and well, put together it's a big collection. And we bought some for you.

It's amazing, and I'd look some more, but my vision is blurred. Tears, that's probably tears. The only sensible thing to do seems to be leaning in and kissing Dean with all the force I can give.

Me: Thank you, Dean.

It's not enough, but I know that he knows. He knows this is the most anyone has ever done for me – with the exception of Michael's sacrifices, he knows that I wonder how this is my life, he knows everything I'm not able to say out loud, and I'm sure of that. 

Dean: No problem, Cas.

Jo and Anna storm in, then, and both proceed to hug me until I almost lose consciousness from the lack of oxygen. This moment will get me a good, bright patronus, I think.

 

**_Epilogue_**

Life is not a bad thing to have, I decide, walking hand-in-hand with Dean during one of the rock festivals. It was a long ride, but worth it. After all, we did it to celebrate my first paycheck.   
The job I found in a nearby store isn't an easy or fun one, but it certainly isn't bad, either. Dean swings by almost every day, my name tag says 'Cas Novak' – there'll be a time to figure out a better, longer first name to put there, and the manager smiles and blushes each time she sees us, calling us the most lovely couple she's ever seen.   
My therapist, Chuck, says I'm getting better. I have no idea if I am. My whole world is turning upside down, and again, and again – seems like it can do that in many ways. Maybe life's a circus performer. And also a good cook in training, because food tastes better than it has ever had, and the pounds I gain seem like a victory sometimes – particularly when I shop for clothes, and Dean throws appreciative looks at my butt clad in a new pair of pants, the size slightly bigger than the previous ones. I'm still slight, but – according to my doctor – much closer to a healthy weight than I was, and that's all that matters.   
Dean is a treasure. He seems to care for me above anything else – besides Sam, of course – and is overprotective at times, but damn if six years with nobody taking care of me didn't earn me that. I deserve to be saved, I realize every time he nuzzles his nose into my hair and says I'm beautiful. I don't quite believe him yet, but I know that one day, I will.  
I never feel alone. It's a very special thing to know, because I had felt alone since I remember, and that would probably be middle school. After all the years that have passed, suddenly everything has changed, and it seems like my prayers were heard.


End file.
